A Kingdom of Hate
by Jynx Harvest
Summary: Chekov and Scott find themselves trapped in an underground anti-human civilization. They are beaten and tortured just for being on the planet...The Enterprise can't save them now. Better than it sounds. R&R. Alternating pov. T for safety.
1. Waves of Grass

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This is not slash, Scotty and Chekov just got put on a team together. My OC belongs to me.**

**Warnings: Mega torture. Cursing.**

**Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own Star Trek.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_He didn't dare move. Or, rather, he didn't dare attempt to move. All he saw was darkness. All he felt…pain. Worry. Chekov. He must be just as bad, if not worse, by now. The poor Ensign was probably just as massacred as _he_ was—maybe even dying, if not already dead. Scotty tried to let out a groan, but instead a hoarse, raspy, choking noise came out, followed by a coughing fit of liquid rubies. The Engineer gasped, only to be put into even more agony._

_Darkness. All he saw was darkness. The cold, damp cellar he was trapped in and the hard brick floor he was chained to wasn't helping his recovering process at all. Scott wished only just to move a few inches away, so one of his chains wouldn't be digging into his already broken ribcage. Now, he wasn't a doctor, but he knew very well everything that was wrong with him. If he even had one rib left unbroken, he'd be shocked, and that led him to believe that he had also punctured one of his lungs. Breathing was near impossible. His collarbone, too, had snapped during the struggle. Scott didn't have to be a genius to know that he wasn't going to make it through this time. The only thing separating his martyred body from the stone floor was the thick pool of his blood, and a good amount of it. He was numb. The cuts on his face stung from the tears. Sure, the Engineer was tough, but after a certain amount of pain is endured there comes a point that a human's eyes begin to tear—whether it is legitimate crying, or just a natural reaction to physical suffering. Scotty's had been the latter._

_Time. There wasn't much left. The mission failed. The Enterprise would not be coming to rescue them. As amazing as she was, her transporter beams couldn't reach them so far below the planet's surface. Not that they would even try. Scott had managed to issue a code green before he and Chekov got into the serious trouble they were in at the moment. Code green: The landing party was in grave danger, and the ship was not to do anything about it. It was so unlike Scotty to lose hope. Then again, he'd never been hurt as badly as he was before. Sure, he had once gotten a concussion from a woman that gave him random bouts of amnesia, almost leading to his own demise to be punished for murder's committed by _Jack the ripper_…_

_Scotty let out another gasp, cut off by what should have been a yell of pain but didn't come out right. His voice. Was gone. His chest wrenched in protest as he tried to catch his breath. There was two sharp, sudden surges of pain originating in his chest cavity and instantaneously spreading to his extremities, and he winced. He could barely hear his heart beat, and _Chekov_, oh, the poor navigator, he hadn't made a sound in at least two hours. No gasp of pain, no small little attempt to move. Montgomery didn't even want to try to determine the reason for that. The Engineer couldn't help it. Oxygen deprived, he began to take in a deep breath that swiftly turned into an asthmatic wheeze, an acute pain generating in his side from the sudden movement. He felt helpless and weak. Why had they even sent the Chief Engineer on this kind of mission? Or the navigator?_

_His thoughts started fading. 'No, no…' Scotty said inside his mind, beginning to slip out of consciousness again. 'Stay awake, they'll come again, you'll both get it, don't…'_

_Too late. The Scotsman passed out, only to be slightly roused again twenty minutes later by the sound of a door being unlocked. He was still slipping away, and he tried with all of his will to stay awake. Scott managed to get his eyes to open ever so slightly, only to reveal a blurry, spinning room that was only slightly illuminated by a new torch, held by a man, no…_a thing_, who was now the Engineer's worst fear._

_"Tch." The thing clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Weak, filthy humans. How many times do I have to tell you to stay awake? Looks to me like you need another lesson. What do you say, human?"_ It_ had a dark smile on it's face, and laughed with the utmost contentment. _It_ reached into it's pocket, and pulled out a long, leather rope…_

_Scotty's eyes opened wide, though it didn't help his vision. He opened his mouth to protest, to _plead_, but to no avail. It was not a risk that proved worth taking. Pain shot through every injury in the Engineer's body, his chest and his side feeling the worst of it. Scott coughed maniacally as it began to strike him with the whip. More cuts. More pain. He was dying. Scott quietly cried out, no where near as loud as it was supposed to be, as _it's_ whip sliced into his skin. He twisted and turned in agony, but his broken bones didn't like that one bit. Scott's hands were flexed, his arms shaking in shock and ached. Each little crack of the whip pushed him farther and farther toward the edge. There was no way anyone could lose as much blood as he did_. It_ kicked him hard, knocking him into a different position, his head twisted in another direction. He managed to get a slight glimpse at Chekov's mangled body, only to regret it. Indeed, the lad was worse than Scott, but he was awake._

_One arm wrapped around his chest and grabbing his side, the other arm folded and attempting to push him upward, Chekov's teeth were grinded together in obvious torture. Scott noticed how extraordinarily pale he was, covered in sweat from a fever he had contracted. The navigator's eyes sparkled a dark red. A line of blood at the corner of his mouth down to his chin, where the blood he had coughed up had been over-flowing. Bruises and cuts everywhere. He, no doubt, had numerous failing organs and broken bones as Scott did._

It_, after giving Scott one last kick to the chest (causing his breathing to temporarily cease and his heart to convulse in anguish), took four menacing steps toward Pavel, the reverberating sound of it's feet—feet? No, hooves—causing both the Engineer and the Navigator even more panic. _No, no! Please, leave the lad, he's so young…_Montgomery couldn't get the words out. He couldn't breathe anymore. He wouldn't. Too much torment. _It_ had no mercy on the Ensign._

It_ grabbed Chekov's neck in an impossibly tight grip and forced him to his feet. His eyes forced themselves shut and his jaw clenched to reveal his teeth as he struggled, grabbing _it's_ arms in a weak attempt to save himself, but it was futile. _It_ used its other arm to open one of Pavel's bloodshot eyes and examine it._ It _seemed satisfied after that, grinning to reveal its set of two hundred thin, pointed purple teeth_. It_ threw Chekov back to the ground with strength and speed that exceeded even a Vulcan, gave him four licks with the whip, then proceeded to leave, muttering something while doing so._

_"Damn, that poison is working so slowly. Oh, well, disgusting thing won't last much longer anyway. Don't understand why I can't just be rid of them now." _It _murmured to itself as it walked to the door._ It_ fiddled through its pockets for some keys, then stepped outside of the room._

_"Filthy humans. This time, stay awake."_ It_ hissed as it slammed the door shut, leaving the two officers in complete darkness again. Scott heard the sound of the exit being locked several times, then footsteps that grew more and more faint as time went by. When he was certain_ it_ was gone, he tried to catch a view of Chekov, but it was no use; he could see nothing._

_Chekov, as it left, had been on his hands and knees, attempting to gasp for air. His labored breathing rapidly became quieter and slower, so quiet that the Engineer could no longer hear it. Pavel fell to the side without a sound._

_Scotty waited five minutes. He waited for some sort of noise, anything, any kind of sign that the boy was still alive. There was none. _Oh, God…_He mustered up the last of his remaining strength, but still only managed little more than a raspy whisper._

_"Ch-Chekov, lad…" The Engineer addressed breathlessly. "Are…you still…" That was it. His lungs couldn't take more than that. He fell into another violent, bloody coughing fit, Scott's suffering becoming worse to the point that he no longer had any will to live through the day. Again his eyelids fell shut and breathing slowed as Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer and Second Officer of the _USS Enterprise_, lost consciousness._

* * *

Have you ever woken up and just _known_ that it was going to be a god-awful day? Well, that day, that was what it was like for the Chief Engineer. He had awaken on the floor of his courters, his right leg still on the bed, and blanket twisted over his chest. His neck was propped up against a nightstand, and to say it was uncomfortable was like saying "Hell can be a tad bit warm sometimes."

Scotty groaned and rolled over, having to pull his leg off of the bed with his hands because the circulation had been cut off for who-knows-how-long. The minute he put his head down there was an explosion of cracking sounds from his upper spine. Scott didn't even want to _know_ how bad that was for his health. He looked down at his clothes, noticing that he had apparently slept with his uniform on. He sighed and stood up, only to collapse again, having put most of his weight on his left leg. The Engineer grinded his teeth together as the blood rushed back to his limb. His intercom beeped persistently, but he made no move to get it.

"Scotty. Scotty, are you there? You're needed on the bridge. Acknowledge. _Acknowledge,_ Mr. Scott." The Captain's voice held some irritation, it was evident that he was getting impatient with something. Scotty limped over to the intercom and tiredly replied to Kirk.

"Aye, Captain, on my way." He said, groggy.

"Thank you. Make it fast, please, it's important. Sorry to wake you. Kirk out."

Important? Scott shook out his leg, trying to get rid of the pins-and-needles feeling. Once he regained feeling, he quickly walked out of his courters, the automatic door shutting behind him. Scotty jogged to the turbolift and stepped on.

"Bridge," He said breathlessly. The Engineer waited impatiently as he stretched out, cracking his neck again. The day before had been busy, but there was no good reason as to why he didn't sleep well. The doors of the turbolift opened and he stepped onto the bridge, his Captain and Ensign Chekov standing close by. Looking around the bridge, it didn't seem like there was an emergency.

"Mr. Scott," Kirk acknowledged. "That was fast."

"Aye, Captain." Scotty agreed, one eyebrow raised and head slightly tilted. Wasn't he told to come quickly?

"Ah, well," The Captain said. "We received a distress call from one of the newer colonies, Xenoan. It _was_ priority one, but then it switched. Turns out they're having some major technical issues. Mr. Chekov is beaming down to ensure that the planet's condition hasn't changed and is still inhabitable; apparently none of Xenoan's technology is working at all and we need to make sure the planet is still safe." Kirk explained. "And I need _you_ to help them repair their equipment. Think you can do it?"

The Engineer smiled. "Of course, sir."

Kirk returned the smile with his small, crooked grin. "Alright. Try not to take too long. See you both when you get back. Oh, and check in with us every half-hour. Okay?"

"Yes, Keptin." Chekov replied with a nod. Kirk gave him a pat on the back, then returned to the comm. Chekov and Scott exchanged glances, then stepped onto the turbolift.

"You look tired," The Ensign pointed out, slightly amused.

"That's puttin' it lightly," Scotty replied with a yawn. "I woke up on the floor." Chekov laughed, then shrugged.

"Oh, well. Eet heppens." He said. "Et least this should be a wery easy mission."

"Aye, but don't go jinxin' it, lad." The Engineer warned with a chuckle as they arrived at the transporter room and stepped off of the turbolift. Lieutenant Riley was standing idly, waiting for the two officers. He stood up straighter when he saw them coming and got ready to beam them down as they stepped onto the transporter pad.

"Energize," said Scott.

The pair was sent down to the surface of Xenoan. Scotty looked around at the scenery of the planet. It was relatively earth-like, though it seemed like the entire planet was nothing but savanna. There was grass everywhere, and what seemed to be a lake off in the distance, and one tree. Just one. It was a willow, from the looks of it. There was but one stone building, and there was no light in it. The windows were shattered and the door was on the ground a few feet away. A good portion of the grass surrounding the building, Scott noticed, was tinted red. Chekov stepped forward with his tricorder, going closer to the building. The Engineer reluctantly followed, but ended up bumping into the Ensign, who had suddenly stopped.

"Mr. Scott—" Pavel said slowly, sounding shocked. "This ees zee colony's headquarters, eet has all of their communication equipment and emergency tech." He explained. "Eet is allegedly zee only building they constructed yet, with zee exception of their dwellings."

"Well, then, shouldn't there be someone inside?" Scott asked, an eyebrow raised.

Chekov swallowed. "Yes. But there ees no one there. And…zee gress…ees red."

Scotty pursed his lips. "I can see tha', lad." He said impatiently. "That's where we're supposed to be, innit? Shall we go see what all the fuss is about?"

The Ensign said nothing, just stared at the tricorder. Scott merely shrugged and started walking to the building. The navigator trailed after him, muttering some Russian incantations.

If you've ever been told that humans can't smell blood, you've been told correctly. But if there is _a lot_ of blood—a _whole_ lot—you can. The odor barely registered in the Scotsman's mind. Pavel, however, hesitated for a moment; but didn't turn back since Montgomery was still going into the structure. He stepped through the door, then, _and only then,_ did he stop.

_Uh-Oh._

"Chekov, lad, go back!" Scotty commanded suddenly before he turned himself, reaching for his communicator. Chekov saw the inside of the building, then the two took off in a sprint. Inside of the one-roomed structure had been…bodies. Quite a few of them. No, that was the biggest understatement in the entire universe. There must have been at least six-hundred massacred humans—the whole colony. He didn't have to be a genius to realize they'd been led into a trap.

Both officers still running as far away as they possibly could, Scott flipped open his communicator. The two were almost near the lake now.

"Scott to _Enterprise, _Scott to _Enterprise_!" He yelled. There was screaming in the distance, and pounding drum beats, and…galloping horses? Whatever had killed the colony was after them, now, too.

"Mr. Scott—look!" Chekov shouted, skidding to a halt. Scotty stopped as well and looked to where Chekov was pointing. Random spots on the ground were _opening up_, hundreds of circle-shaped-grass-covered trap doors. Out of said doors came _things_, men and women with two white or grey horns on their heads, lavender-colored skin on the upper body, diversified colored fur on the lower body, skinny legs with large hooves instead of feet. Humanoid, but also goat-oid. They looked like demons, but you mustn't judge a book by its cover.

…then again, they also wielded weapons. They looked like a cross between a rifle and a phaser, and were all bronze in color. They were aimed at the landing party. Scott saw Chekov turn around, then he tapped the Engineer on the shoulder. Scotty turned around also, and saw that there were hundreds more of the things standing behind them, weapons pointed.

"Shit." Whispered the young Ensign. One of the women, apparently the largest one there, had more intricate-looking horns with black tips. That woman stood tall, and quietly stepped over to them.

"Tell your Captain you are safe. Tell him everything is fine, or we'll kill you. No one on board your ship will have time to transport you." She—_it_ whispered quietly, her iridescent orange eyes narrowed in anger. Chekov's mouth parted open in slight shock, then his head hung down in defeat. Scott gridded his teeth and said nothing.

"Yes, Mr. Scott?" Kirk's voice rung out of the communicator. Never had the Engineer been so upset to hear his Captain speak to him. He swallowed hard, debating what to do. "Scotty? Are you there?"

He sighed. "Aye, sir." Scott said in melancholy. "Captain…we're alright. Code green." The Scotsman swiftly shut the device, which was taken away by _it _and crushed with it's bare hands. The Engineer and the Navigator both just prayed that the _things_ didn't know what 'code green' meant. They prayed that the things didn't know they had just alerted their ship that they were in danger, and that the crew was not to do anything.

"Good," It said, voice wispy and echo-like. "So glad to see that at least _one_ of you nasty little humans actually listens to your superiors." It dropped the remains of the communicator. Both officers stayed silent. They learned long ago that when confronted by aliens such as these, the best thing to do was just to take the insults and go along with it until they had a plan.

"What did you do to zee colony?" Chekov demanded, his tone sharp yet very quiet. It laughed.

"You saw, didn't you?" It asked, chuckling. "We killed them. Stupid humans can't even tell when their own kind has departed from life!" An mocking laughter erupted amongst the goat-human things. They may have looked partially human, but whatever amount of human that was in there had to be microscopic. The things were monsters.

Then again, they'd dealt with monsters before. It was not the first time.

The Ensign gritted his teeth. "I meant, _why_ did you keel them?"

It clicked its tongue in response to Chekov's question, motioning to several others of its kind to come forward. Six of the things stepped up to the boy, their weapons held directly to him. Scotty held his breath, ready to step in if it went to far—which, of course, he knew would happen.

"_Why?"_ It hissed in the same echo-y voice. "You disgusting _vermin_ invaded our planet! You disturbed our peace, you wasted our resources, and you're just absolutely terrible!" It reached in front of itself and grabbed Chekov's communicator and tricorder, breaking the tricorder instantly but this time not destroying the communicator.

"But," Scotty started calmly. "Starfleet scanned the planet prior to the colonization. There were no signs of life here, it seemed uninhabited. And there were even teams sent down to observe the area—surely they would have seen ye all!"

"Indeed," It responded. "Which led us to believe that they were hostile creatures! After they began _building_ on our only food resource and _draining_ our water supply, we knew our assumptions were true. Ugh, and they made so much _noise_! On sacred ground! When we told them they must leave immediately, they did not…so we destroyed them." It was yelling now, it's feminine celestial voice echoing around them. "And it was…most enjoyable. A sport."

_Uh-oh._

_**Uh-oh.**_

They'd dealt with beings like these before. It never _ever_ turns out well. It always results in the death of at least two security officers, and everyone else in the landing party almost dying. A sport of killing? Killing _humans?_

_It_ made a series of clicking noises, and the two officers were suddenly on the ground, pinned down by several of the beasts. A rifle-phaser (It wasn't a phaser-rifle, it just looked like a cross of an ancient rifle and a phaser.) was aimed at both Scott and Chekov. _It_ made a screeching sound, and the weapons went off. Scotty only had a millisecond to register it. It emitted a sort of light—it looked like the same thing a phaser did, but _they_ didn't seem advanced enough for that…maybe it was a laser?

The Navigator got hit first. He cried out in pain only an instant before Scott did too. Yes, definitely a laser. High intensity laser. He squirmed, tried to get away, but the guards held him down. The laser burned through the edge of his abdomen, blood already pouring out of it. It really, really _hurt._ Scott gasped in pain, tightly gripping the grass beneath him.

A roar of laughter erupted from the alien crowd. Some of the guards lifted the two officers back to their feet and held on to their arms. Scott looked over to the Ensign to check for damage—Chekov's right shoulder had been hit by the laser and was bleeding excessively.

"You shall go down to our Kingdom," It said, motioning toward one of the trap doors. After the Starfleet officers made no effort to move, It hollered. "_Now!"_

The guards pushed them, slicing them and shooting at them and beating them until they had both finally fallen through one of the doors and were on the lift that was directly under the opening. More laughter as the lift was lowered down. They had to be miles above the ground. (Or, rather, above the ground that was hundreds of miles _below_ the ground.) Scotty and the Navigator groaned in pain as they attempted to push themselves up. They were already covered in scratches and deeper cuts. Scott gripped his side, the Navigator pulling him to his feet.

"Mr. Scott, are you alright?" The Ensign asked, concern and pain in his voice.

Scotty grunted. "Aye, lad. A bit worse for wear, but I'll be alright." He said. "Wot about you?"

Chekov tenderly touched his shoulder, then lifted his hand to his face to see the caked blood. "I've been better, sir. But I will live." He smiled.

_They started to fall._ They both yelled out as they plummeted to the ground. The lift beneath them was dropping at an alarming rate, they gripped it as if their life depended on it. Well, their life _did_ depend on it.

"_Hold on, lad!"_

_"Aye, sir…but I don't have much of a choice!"_

Twenty feet before they hit the ground, the lift stopped short. Chekov and Scott were thrown against the platform by inertia. Just as they started to push themselves up, the lift tilted and they rolled off of it. They fell about fifteen feet, then landed on a stack of hay, and rolled onto the ground.

Chekov pushed himself up with his elbows, blowing a piece of straw out of his mouth. "Ouch. That hurt. Wery much."

"Aye."

The pair looked up, seeing a crowd of the things laughing their horned heads off. _It_, who they now assumed was female and was their leader, stood in front. "It hurt? Well, get used to it, you filthy humans. Welcome to our Kingdom…you won't be coming out alive."


	2. Beaten Sulu's Sadness

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters mentioned here except for **_**it**_** and Emily Eprouve.**

**Warnings: MAJOR VIOLENCE. REALLY SAD. REALLY.**

**Notes: Sorry this took so long, I don't know what happened! It would be a good idea to go to my profile and do a quick once-over of my OC's description, particularly the 'relationships' section. Oh, and once you find out **_**its**_** name, try saying it three times fast. Heck, try saying it once.**

**Also, if you see any typos or grammar mistakes in the aliens' dialogue, it is **_**on purpose.**_

**Thanks for all the reviews! Just so you know, I eat and breathe reviews. So if you don't review…I'll die, and then there'll be no more story.**

**ENJOY, you sadistic Star Trek fans!**

* * *

Thus, the beating began. Scotty and Chekov were hit several times with the rifles, beaten with bludgeons, sliced with whips, stabbed with knives, kicked, punched, trampled…dragged even further down into a prison cell—dungeon—in what seemed to be the leader's castle, shackled to the stone floor, and beaten some more in the pitch darkness.

_They_ shouted hurtful things at them, sly remarks about humans and how weak they were. Once, Chekov was knocked unconscious. _Bad, _very, very _bad._The guard who had knocked him out left immediately, came back with two others, and proceeded to hurt him worse than Scotty had ever seen anyone hurt. Chekov struggled to stay awake the rest of the time, as did Scott, but let's face it: they were human. Humans simply _can not_ lose that much blood, it defies the laws of biology. They had both been knocked unconscious about three times each before an extremely loud alarm went off—and the seven guards who were watching them were replaced by only two.

_Nightshift? _Thought Scotty. Wow. Night. It had been only seven a.m. ship time when they left. Nightshifts usually only began at twelve, earliest. He felt like he had been in the wretched place for _days, __**weeks**_, and he knew that Pavel must have, too.

As late as he knew it was, food was sent to them through a slot in the door. It was served in a steel dish, and held a grayish-brown food similar to peanut butter or cookie dough, and actually tasted rather sweet. It wasn't bad, but probably the least-nutritious thing in the universe and certainly wasn't filling. In fact, it made the Engineer feel weaker and hungrier. Water was given to them every three hours. They would be checked on every half-hour. At these checks, they would be knocked senselessly.

Scotty had officially lost too much blood to be able to fight back. The seemingly hundreds of gaping holes in his skin burned with an acidic pain and prevented him from moving too much. The same with the Navigator.

Montgomery fell comatose.

…

_The things were back. They all had a devilish grin on their ugly, lavender faces, their pointed yellow teeth revealed menacingly. Scotty tried to move back but couldn't, Chekov could barely keep his eyes open. Blood seeped from his mouth as the things stepped closer._

_"Stay back," Scotty pleaded hoarsely._

_"Weak, pitiful, disgusting—" One of the things started._

_"Disgraceful, foul, unintelligent—" Continued another._

_"Wretched, pathetic little humans!" The other finished. The three things lifted up their lasers, and shot. The Ensign and the Engineer let out a cry of agony that did not cease until long after the lasers had. The things picked up Chekov by the hair, continuing to mutter terrible insults, then threw him down to the floor with great effort. They wrapped his chains around his neck and the boy began to choke._

_" Chekov!" Montgomery shouted. "Stop! No, let him go, please! Please—"_

"Mr. Scott, wake up! Can you hear me? Mr. Scott!"

Scotty shot up with a gasp, only to be pulled back down again after a loud cracking noise and a sharp burst of pain. The chains had restrained him. The Engineer hit the brick floor with a thud.

"Mr. Scott! Are you alright?" Chekov asked, panicked. Scotty lay there, catching his breath.

"A-Aye, lad, I'm alright…" He finally responded quietly. He suddenly realized that only half of it had been a dream. Chekov was alive, but both of them were hurt worse than they were before he had passed out. The guards had to have come numerous times. "How long…?"

"Nearly three days, I think. I thought—I thought you were—" Pavel was at a loss for words. He sighed.

"Three days, ah no…" Scotty repeated, brow furrowed in frustration. He wasn't entirely surprised, it certainly _felt_ like he had three days' worth of torture. "Are ye alright, lad?" Chekov had winced and lowered himself back down to the floor, breathing heavily.

"…Aye, sir…"

The Engineer groaned quietly. "Chekov, I think tha circumstances allow…I mean, formalities are na necessary here, lad."

Pavel gave a little ironic smile. "Right, Mr. Scott." Eh, old habits die hard. He'd get it eventually. Scotty chuckled quietly, and it turned into an agonizing coughing fit. He moaned softly, gripping his chest. Chekov sat up in alarm.

"Mr. Sc—Scott, please, stay awake, if you pass out again, zee guards will—"

Well, it's not like Scotty had much of a say in whether or not he was going to lose consciousness. He was only out for another two hours or so, and awoke to a panic-stricken Navigator.

"Mr. Scott!" Pavel said, back to formalities again. "_Please_ try to stay awake!" Scotty scanned over the boy with tired eyes, noticing that he had been beaten even more, as had the Engineer.

Then, there was the sound of a door being unlocked. Chekov muttered a Russian curse and attempted to sit up. "Not again…"

Scotty followed Chekov's lead. He tried to put himself up off of the ground, but his chains were still tangled and prevented him. He let out a hiss of pain as the door swung open, revealing two of the things…and their leader had returned once again. It grinned mischievously at the two Starfleet officers, the two other things just stared at them in disgust.

The Engineer looked over to Pavel. He was a bit worse for wear, a very dark, indigo bruise spread across his neck. Scotty noted that his unconscious hallucinations had not been entirely false. Chekov was in a shallow puddle of blood, having already lost enough to be in sickbay for two weeks. Then again, they wouldn't be in sickbay. This, Scotty grudgingly admitted, was going to be their last mission. The two officers exchanged grim looks.

One of the guards chuckled maniacally and reached into…it's pocket, pulling out a dark leather whip. Scotty's eyes widened. _No…!_ The creature cracked the whip, managing to hit both Scott and Chekov at the same time. The Starfleet officers let out a cry of pain in unison. _It_ continued to strike them repeatedly, they managed to keep from making any sound by biting their lips. The other creature laughed while the whole thing went on. When it finished, both of the guards released the Engineer and the Navigator from their chains. They stared incomprehensibly as the guards roughly hoisted them to their feet and tied rope around their hands, pushing them out the door.

"Where are you taking us?" Chekov demanded, his voice shaking with pain.

It responded indifferently and unemotionally, with only five words: "To see your wretched Captain."

_"Captain's log: Stardate…supplemental. Still no word from the landing party, code green is still in effect. Our monitors show that Montgomery Scott and Pavel Chekov are still alive, but badly injured. Unfortunately, we have been unable to contact _anyone_ on the planet, and at the moment there is nothing we can do to help our two officers…my two friends. They have been stranded on the planet for three—nearly four—days now, and…and I'm scared for them. Kirk out."_

Kirk exhaled and brushed a hand through his hair, punching a button at his station to end the log. Lieutenant Uhura had already contacted Starfleet the minute code green was issued, there had so far been no response. Bones stood behind him and did the only thing he could do: he placed his hand on Kirk's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Jim. We'll save them. Until then, Scotty and Chekov can take care of themselves. They're both stubborn and arrogant…they won't give up without a fight." McCoy consoled.

"Oh, they've been fighting alright." Kirk muttered. "This is hopeless, Bones. Even the 'safe' missions are dangerous."

The doctor sighed with a shrug. "That's part of the job, Kirk. You gotta know that by now."

Captain Kirk stared glumly at the helmsman and replacement navigator. Sulu looked grim and had been really jumpy since the last time Scott had called them. The relief navigator, Emily Èprouvé, had been running back and forth between the navigational console and the mission ops console to check on Scotty and Chekov. They were deep below the planet's surface, too far down for the scanners to reach.

Doctor McCoy was on the bridge for a reason, and it wasn't to console the Captain. "What do you want, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. "Look…we don't have much of a choice for Emily, but we do for Sulu. He's been at that damn console nearly eighteen hours every day since we lost contact with the landing party. You _know_ that he and Chekov and Scotty are just about three bodies sharing one soul. He's worried himself sick, and I mean that literally." The doctor explained. "See how pale he is? The bags under his eyes? He needs a break, Jim, and he's going to take a very long one _now_, whether I have to pull rank on 'im or not."

James just sighed. "Fine. If you feel he needs it, doctor, go right ahead, but you know what he's going to say." He said, speaking at normal volume now. Sulu tensed, already knowing all too well what he was in for. Leonard stepped over to the helmsman, standing directly behind him. Sulu rigidly, slowly turned his back and stared at the doctor in silence. He was so upset that he was shaking from it. He said only one sentence, tired eyes staring up at McCoy.

"They're my best friends."

Bones rolled his eyes. "I know that. Just because they're in trouble doesn't mean you have to be, too, Sulu. Get some rest." Sulu looked ready to protest, but McCoy beat him to it. "_I'm_ the Chief Medical Officer, and you'll do as I say." He scolded. The helmsman glowered.

"What if it was Ms. Èprouvé*? Or Mr. Spock? Or Captain Kirk?" Hikaru snapped, tears forming in his eyes. "What would _you_ do!" He stood up. McCoy froze, taking a moment to glance over Emily, Spock , and Jim, who were all staring at him with wide eyes (Well, Spock as close to being wide-eyed as he'd ever be.) Bones scowled.

"Damn it." He muttered. Sulu had a point there.

"Hikaru," The Captain stepped in, a careful use of the helmsman's first name. Sulu looked up immediately. "Please. If we get any more information, we'll call you right back up to the bridge. For now, you're more useful if you're rested." He said softly. Sulu just sighed and turned to exit the room.

"Captain—" The navigator started. "Should I check the mission console again before he leaves?" She asked. Kirk smiled.

"Yes, that may be a good idea." Jim replied. Hikaru stood his ground as Emily quickly went to the other end of the bridge to her main console. She pressed a few buttons with a cough, and remained silent for a moment.

"…Sir, Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov are in range of our scanners!" The girl announced. Kirk looked shocked, and Hikaru instantaneously went back to his seat.

"Details, Ensign!" Kirk commanded.

"They are in the main technology building of the colony—and they are _not_ alone, sir." Èprouvé clicked a few more buttons. "They're—they're both badly injured, Captain. Very badly."

"_What?"_ Sulu hissed. Kirk waved his arm dismissively.

"But they're alive?" The Captain pried.

"Yes, sir, but—"

"Captain, we're being hailed!" Uhura interrupted. All eyes fell on her. Silence on the bridge. Attention turned to Kirk. Sulu looked panicked. More silence.

"…on the screen, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir." Uhura flipped a switch on her compboard, and a lavender imp-like creature with mischievous eyes appeared on the screen. Everyone stared in awe at the alien while a look of disgust crossed it's face, it's nose crinkling in displeasure.

Lavender skin, two bright white horns. No discernible gender, and no race that anyone on the bridge knew. Spock immediately began searching his console for what the being was, finding nothing.

"Ugh…" It started, sickened. "Greetings, Caption Kirk." It said in an unmistakably feminine voice.

"Who are you?" Kirk quietly demanded, remaining calm. She…it raised an eyebrow.

"Patience, filthy human." It commanded furiously. Uh-oh. _Uh-oh._ "I am T'Ke~ltin'Izalach, the ruler of this land."

Kirk wasn't even going to _try_ to pronounce its name. He and Spock exchanged glances. "…We were led to believe this planet was uninhabited."

"_Liars! You were not! You came to invade our beautiful sacred savannah with your disgusting, filthy human ways and take over our planet!" _It shrieked so loudly that Uhura and McCoy had to cover their ears. Spock looked uncomfortable, and why shouldn't he…Vulcans tended to be infamous for their ears. "You weak, disgraceful, polluting humans building on our sacred land…"

"Now, wait just a minute." The Captain said, standing up now. "We were completely unaware of any life forms on this planet. A team was sent down to the planet's surface to check for any sign of civilization _and_ the planet was scanned by Earth Starfleet Ships."

"And you just _ignored_ our presence?" It gasped.

"No, we just didn't _find—"_

_"Lies! __**Lies!**_ We want you gone! Now! Go away!"

It was not going to listen to reason, so Kirk decided that he had to be hostile as well. "Not without my officers!"

It laughed loudly and maniacally, the kind of laugh you would hear from a psychopath or 'The Joker', a feared comic book character from the 21st century that Kirk used to be afraid he would find in his closet or under his bed. "Oh, you mean these two?" She made the camera reveal more of the room—behind her were four guards, two guards holding one man each. Chekov and Scotty looked to be in agony and were just dripping with blood. McCoy leaned forward a bit, looking back and forth from the Navigator to the Engineer. Sulu gasped quietly. The floor they were standing on was covered in a red jelly-like substance that took the Captain a few moments to recognize as human remains. _The colony!_

Jim stared in horror. "_What have you _done_ to them!"_ He howled angrily, hand gripping his chair.


	3. Knowing

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Star Trek or any of the characters mentioned here except for **_**it**_** and Emily Eprouve.**

**Warnings: MAJOR VIOLENCE. REALLY SAD. REALLY.**

**Thanks for all the reviews! Just so you know, I eat and breathe reviews. So if you don't review…I'll die, and then there'll be no more story.**

**If I don't get 5 reviews for this chapter, bye-bye story!**

**ENJOY, you sadistic Star Trek fans!**

* * *

"Scotty! Chekov!" Kirk yelled as _it_ bellowed a laugh. "Let them go _now!_ I am the Captain of a Federation Starship and I _order you—"_

_"You order me?_" It repeated, shaking its head. "No, no, no, Caption. If you try to transport your men aboard, we'll just kill them before you have the chance. Leave now. If you bring anyone else down to our planet we will kill them brutally. Allow me to demonstrate…" It made a series of clicking noises, and the two officers were forcefully thrown to the ground, gasping in pain after a sharp thud. Three of the guards proceeded to whip the men, beat them with sticks, kick them, and shoot them with what appeared to be lasers. The other remaining guard went off screen.

Sulu was standing up now, staring in horror at the screen as his two best friends were torn apart. Kirk's mouth hung half open, McCoy and Uhura had long since looked away.

"That's enough." The Captain said, but _they_ did not cease. "Alright, stop it…_stop!"_ Kirk shouted. "Leave them alone!"

_It_ cackled. "You are to leave orbit immediately." It said, orange eyes glistening with excitement.

"Not without my friends," Jim growled. He saw both Scott and Chekov freeze, then try to push themselves up, their bloodshot eyes staring at the Captain with both pride and sadness. He probably didn't tell the Engineer or the Navigator how much they meant to him as often as he should have. Kirk mentally slapped himself for not saying it _before_ they were on their deathbeds.

"Friends?" The imp hissed. "I know no such word."

"You know…people that you care about. People you love?"

"Love?" It said skeptically. "I'm afraid I do not understand _that_ term, either. No matter…"

_Damn it!_ Why did the _Enterprise_ always end up facing off against some immoral, barbaric alien race that had never heard of love? Why couldn't some other starship be saddled with it for once?

It was Spock's turn to step in. "I fail to understand why you wish to keep Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov on your planet while you seem to hold a hatred of humans and wish to rid your planet of them." He provided, stepping toward the Captain's chair now so _it_ could see him. Its face crinkled in confusion.

"Sumple, really." It replied. Kirk noted their common mispronunciations…Standard was certainly not their first language. He wasn't surprised. "We detest filthy, disgusting humans and we don't want any more on our planet." It explained. "…But why waste these two when they're just _so_ much fun to watch suffer?" Jim growled and opened his mouth to say something, but it went on. "…You are not a human, I can see. I am smart. What are you?"

"I am a Vulcan." Spock stated simply. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw McCoy cross his arms in annoyance. Kirk knew that Spock had made a…_logical_ decision of leaving off the "half-human" part, though, and unlike McCoy, did not take offense to it.

The guard who had left the scene returned, a vial in one hand and…something else in the other. _It_ took the objects, looking excited. It filled the thing with liquid in the vial as Kirk turned to Spock.

"What is that?" He muttered. Spock was about to answer, but to his surprise, McCoy said something first.

"My God…" Leonard whispered. Kirk and Spock stared at the terrified doctor.

"What is it?" The Captain pried. "Bones, what is it?"

"It's called a syringe, Jim. A very, very old medical tool. Y'know, used to give shots?" McCoy quietly explained, accent lightly coming through in his voice due to his horror. "Before hyposprays. Oh, the pain…" The doctor trailed off and Jim bit his lip as it spoke again.

"Last chance, Caption. Leave now." It said defiantly.

"No!" Kirk hissed. "I'm the Captain of the _USS Enterprise,_ I should be ordering _you_ around, not vice versa."

"I do not give a clock who you are!" It yelled. Clock? Probably one of their expressions, Kirk decided. It held up the syringe and stepped over to Chekov. Scotty had last consciousness and Pavel was pretty close. "This was your decision, Caption. You could have just left and not had to watch this, but you made your choice."

It drove the syringe into Chekov's arm, injecting the liquid into his bloodstream. The Navigator's eyes widened, slowly beginning to change to a shade of red. He twisted and turned in obvious agony, falling to his knees with a helpless cry.

Èprouvé and Sulu both jolted up from out of their seats, mouths open wide. "_Pavel!" _Sulu shouted in terror for his best friend.

"Bones!" Kirk addressed urgently.

"It must be whatever liquid that was in that vial that's hurting him," McCoy said, voice low. "Injections hurt but they didn't hurt _that_ much."

_It_ rolled it's eyes, having heard everything that was said. "_Stupid_ humans. Do you want to know what I just injected into your pressious—" Precious. "Officer?" No answer. "Arsenic!" It cackled.

Kirk slumped down into his chair, face buried in his hands so he didn't have to watch Chekov writhe in pain. Emma did something similar, but simply looked away instead. Sulu stared in shock.

"Arsenic," Bones repeated. It was an ancient poison, but it got the job done if used correctly, and therefore throughout the years it remained a feared substance. It finally stopped laughing and looked to the Captain.

"Unless you wish to view—" Watch. "The other one die, you shall leave orbit immediately and notify your leader that this planet is not to be contacted under any circumstances!" It's orange eyes glistened with anger. Chekov was doubled-over on the ground, gasping with much effort. "I will attempt to contact you in three days—if you are still here, you watch him die!"

"What kind of argument is that—he'll die anyway!" Kirk shouted. Suddenly, the screen went black.

"…Transmission terminated, Captain." Uhura said in a shaky voice.

Kirk stood solemnly, staring down at the ground as the images of what had just happened flashed back over and over again. They'd been in situations like this before. His two close friends were dying—Chekov would be dead soon. Would they really not succeed this time? Was it really the end? Were Chekov and Scotty really going to be killed?

"Lieutenant?" Bones's voice cut into his thoughts. "Lieutenant Sulu. Sulu, are you alright? Snap out of it!" He commanded, voice sounding more and more urgent by the word. "Sulu!"

Bones was behind him now, holding the helmsman by the shoulders and lightly shaking him. Hikaru stared at the blank screen unblinkingly, mind unregistering and in a type of trance. "Dammit," muttered McCoy. "This is bad, Jim. I'm taking him down to sickbay." Mental breakdown? Shock? Some messed up combination of the two? The commander only nodded and watched as the CMO pulled his distraught friend to sickbay.

Kirk's throat was tight, he didn't think he could have spoken if he wanted to.

"Captain?" Spock said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I suggest we devise a plan, as soon as possible."

Kirk swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Yeah, Spock…Emma, you have the conn. Alert me if it…_she_…tries to hail us again."

"Yes, sir." Eprouve said quietly, making her way over to the Captain's chair as Kirk and Spock left the bridge onto the turbolift. Jim put a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply as he contemplated what just happened.

"I shouldn't have sent them alone. I should have gone with them. We should have scanned the planet more efficiently. Oh—we should have known when there were no life forms detected at all, including the Colony…"

"Jim." Spock said, exasperated. He gave Kirk a look that said 'holy crap, Jim, you're out of your mind. Shut up.', but instead he said: "There is no logical reason to dwindle over illegitimate mistakes of the past. We must focus on creating a plan, if we are to save Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov."

Kirk nodded numbly, staring off into nothing. He had to rescue his officers. He just _had_ to.

* * *

They were thrown back into their cell. Literally. Chekov hit the stone floor with a crash, a few of his ribs snapping in the process. He didn't mind. The only thing he could think about was whatever that _thing_had shot into him. It hurt like hell—and he couldn't think straight and could barely move. The Navigator found himself thinking in Russian instead of Federation Standard, memories of days past with his family flashing before his eyes. His mother. Father. Grandmother. Sulu. _Sulu._

Sulu had seen him, Chekov knew. He had seen him be beaten and was now either homicidal or suicidal. He heard the Japanese man shout out his first name during _its_ little display, and—

Chekov grabbed his chest, gasping in pain. It had to be poison. That was the only thing it could be. Was he going to die? Damn, the _Enterprise_ really wasn't coming to get them this time. In his mind, he made a little prayer thanking them for that. No more than two lives need be wasted over such a stupid affair. Only the skeletons of Chekov and Scotty need rot on the planet alone, where no Starfleet officer would ever journey again. The world would be off limits to everyone, marked dangerous, and no one would go near it to suffer as they did.

His hair was slick with blood and plastered to his forehead. Rips and tears decorated his body, along with a few broken bones. He assumed he must have had numerous failing organs, maybe his circulatory system in danger of collapse…Chekov coughed a few times. Yeah. It was over.

The Navigator of the _USS Enterprise_ fell silent, giving up his struggle and succumbing to whatever would happen. Darkness swallowed him.

Scott woke up around a day after the incident with the transmission to _the Enterprise._ He didn't like what he found when he woke.

He didn't dare move. Or, rather, he didn't dare attempt to move. All he saw was darkness. All he felt…pain. Worry. Chekov. He must be just as bad, if not worse, by now. The poor Ensign was probably just as massacred as he was—maybe even dying, if not already dead. Scotty tried to let out a groan, but instead a hoarse, raspy, choking noise came out, followed by a coughing fit of liquid rubies. The Engineer gasped, only to be put into even more agony.

Darkness. All he saw was darkness. The cold, damp cellar he was trapped in and the hard brick floor he was chained to wasn't helping his recovering process at all. Scott wished only just to move a few inches away, so one of his chains wouldn't be digging into his already broken ribcage. Now, he wasn't a doctor, but he knew very well everything that was wrong with him. If he even had one rib left unbroken, he'd be shocked, and that led him to believe that he had also punctured one of his lungs. Breathing was near impossible. His collarbone, too, had snapped during the struggle. Scott didn't have to be a genius to know that he wasn't going to make it through this time. The only thing separating his martyred body from the stone floor was the thick pool of his blood, and a good amount of it. He was numb. The cuts on his face stung from the tears. Sure, the Engineer was tough, but after a certain amount of pain is endured there comes a point that a human's eyes begin to tear—whether it is legitimate crying, or just a natural reaction to physical suffering. Scotty's had been the latter.

Time. There wasn't much left. The mission failed. The Enterprise would not be coming to rescue them. As amazing as she was, her transporter beams couldn't reach them so far below the planet's surface. Not that they would even try. Scott had managed to issue a code green before he and Chekov got into the serious trouble they were in at the moment. Code green: The landing party was in grave danger, and the ship was not to do anything about it. It was so unlike Scotty to lose hope. Then again, he'd never been hurt as badly as he was before. Sure, he had once gotten a concussion from a woman that gave him random bouts of amnesia, almost leading to his own demise to be punished for murder's committed by Jack the ripper…

Scotty let out another gasp, cut off by what should have been a yell of pain but didn't come out right. His voice. Was gone. His chest wrenched in protest as he tried to catch his breath. There was two sharp, sudden surges of pain originating in his chest cavity and instantaneously spreading to his extremities, and he winced. He could barely hear his heart beat, and Chekov, oh, the poor navigator, he hadn't made a sound in at least two hours. No gasp of pain, no small little attempt to move. Montgomery didn't even want to try to determine the reason for that. The Engineer couldn't help it. Oxygen deprived, he began to take in a deep breath that swiftly turned into an asthmatic wheeze, an acute pain generating in his side from the sudden movement. He felt helpless and weak. Why had they even sent the Chief Engineer on this kind of mission? Or the navigator?

His thoughts started fading. 'No, no…' Scotty said inside his mind, beginning to slip out of consciousness again. 'Stay awake, they'll come again, you'll both get it, don't…'

Too late. The Scotsman passed out, only to be slightly roused again twenty minutes later by the sound of a door being unlocked. He was still slipping away, and he tried with all of his will to stay awake. Scott managed to get his eyes to open ever so slightly, only to reveal a blurry, spinning room that was only slightly illuminated by a new torch, held by a man, no…a thing, who was now the Engineer's worst fear.

"Tch." The thing clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Weak, filthy humans. How many times do I have to tell you to stay awake? Looks to me like you need another lesson. What do you say, human?" It had a dark smile on it's face, and laughed with the utmost contentment. It reached into it's pocket, and pulled out a long, leather rope…

Scotty's eyes opened wide, though it didn't help his vision. He opened his mouth to protest, to plead, but to no avail. It was not a risk that proved worth taking. Pain shot through every injury in the Engineer's body, his chest and his side feeling the worst of it. Scott coughed maniacally as it began to strike him with the whip. More cuts. More pain. He was dying. Scott quietly cried out, no where near as loud as it was supposed to be, as it's whip sliced into his skin. He twisted and turned in agony, but his broken bones didn't like that one bit. Scott's hands were flexed, his arms shaking in shock and ached. Each little crack of the whip pushed him farther and farther toward the edge. There was no way anyone could lose as much blood as he did. It kicked him hard, knocking him into a different position, his head twisted in another direction. He managed to get a slight glimpse at Chekov's mangled body, only to regret it. Indeed, the lad was worse than Scott, but he was awake.

One arm wrapped around his chest and grabbing his side, the other arm folded and attempting to push him upward, Chekov's teeth were grinded together in obvious torture. Scott noticed how extraordinarily pale he was, covered in sweat from a fever he had contracted. The navigator's eyes sparkled a dark red. A line of blood at the corner of his mouth down to his chin, where the blood he had coughed up had been over-flowing. Bruises and cuts everywhere. He, no doubt, had numerous failing organs and broken bones as Scott did.

It, after giving Scott one last kick to the chest (causing his breathing to temporarily cease and his heart to convulse in anguish), took four menacing steps toward Pavel, the reverberating sound of it's feet—feet? No, hooves—causing both the Engineer and the Navigator even more panic. No, no! Please, leave the lad, he's so young…Montgomery couldn't get the words out. He couldn't breathe anymore. He wouldn't. Too much torment. It had no mercy on the Ensign.

It grabbed Chekov's neck in an impossibly tight grip and forced him to his feet. His eyes forced themselves shut and his jaw clenched to reveal his teeth as he struggled, grabbing it's arms in a weak attempt to save himself, but it was futile. It used its other arm to open one of Pavel's bloodshot eyes and examine it. It seemed satisfied after that, grinning to reveal its set of two hundred thin, pointed purple teeth. It threw Chekov back to the ground with strength and speed that exceeded even a Vulcan, gave him four licks with the whip, then proceeded to leave, muttering something while doing so.

"Damn, that poison is working so slowly. Oh, well, disgusting thing won't last much longer anyway. Don't understand why I can't just be rid of them now." It murmured to itself as it walked to the door. It fiddled through its pockets for some keys, then stepped outside of the room.

"Filthy humans. This time, stay awake." It hissed as it slammed the door shut, leaving the two officers in complete darkness again. Scott heard the sound of the exit being locked several times, then footsteps that grew more and more faint as time went by. When he was certain it was gone, he tried to catch a view of Chekov, but it was no use; he could see nothing.

Chekov, as it left, had been on his hands and knees, attempting to gasp for air. His labored breathing rapidly became quieter and slower, so quiet that the Engineer could no longer hear it. Pavel fell to the side without a sound.

Scotty waited five minutes. He waited for some sort of noise, anything, any kind of sign that the boy was still alive. There was none. Oh, God…He mustered up the last of his remaining strength, but still only managed little more than a raspy whisper.

"Ch-Chekov, lad…" The Engineer addressed breathlessly. "Are…you still…" That was it. His lungs couldn't take more than that. He fell into another violent, bloody coughing fit, Scott's suffering becoming worse to the point that he no longer had any will to live through the day. Again his eyelids fell shut and breathing slowed as Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer and Second Officer of the USS Enterprise, lost consciousness.

_Did he hear something about poison…?_

* * *

"Captain's log, supplemental. We received a transmission from the planet below. We were ordered by the Natives to leave orbit immediately or watch the death of our Engineer. We have already witnessed our Navigator and Security Chief, Mr. Pavel Chekov, be injected with a deadly poison. Doctor McCoy estimates a few more hours before his death, and we may be able to save both of the officers if we hurry. Mr. Sulu has been confined to sickbay and Ms. Èprouvé has command. Mr. Spock, Ms. Uhura, Mr. Reilly and I are currently discussing a plan of action in the conference room…it would be much easier if we had Scotty and Chekov and Sulu to help. Kirk out."

James sighed, putting a hand through his hair as he sat down at the table of three other people. Uhura gave him a consoling smile, and then they began coming up with a plan.


	4. Spock's Sacraficial Plan

**Notes: The whole "clock" concept belongs to an online rpg created by one of my internet friends called "Thorns Online". I have a need to use it in this, so I did. The end.**

**Also, just so you know, I know I'm not exactly the best writer in the world; but please take into consideration that I'm still only 14 and this is a w.i.p…I have a lot of school work and I just saw two Springsteen concerts, so I've been kinda busy.**

**Disclaimer: I own **_**it**_**, Emma, and nothing else.**

**Warnings: Violence, cursing…more violence…more cursing—and some more violence.**

**By the way…I love fanart :D and REVIEWS!**

…_**in other news, the swine flu vaccination can be given as a spray. FINALLY, HYPOSRAYS HAVE BEEN INVENTED!!!!!!!!!!**_

**Thanks for all the reviews! Just so you know, I eat and breathe reviews. So if you don't review…I'll die, and then there'll be no more story.**

**If I don't get 5 reviews for this chapter, bye-bye story!**

**ENJOY, you sadistic Star Trek fans!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

"We don't have much of a choice here," Uhura said quietly. "We either leave, or we stay until Scott and Chekov are dead…beaming down to the planet seems like a terrible idea; they outnumber us even if the entire crew were to beam down." They had been discussing their ideas for almost half an hour now, and it was beginning to look hopeless.

"But we have phasers," Mr. Riley pointed out.

"And _they_ have laser guns." Kirk added, putting a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Beaming down is out of the question. It wouldn't work."

"Then, Captain," Spock started. "Are you suggesting that we abandon our Chief Engineer and Navigator and flee the area?" Kirk looked insulted.

"No, of course not! Leaving is even _more_ out of the question than beaming down is!" He snapped, frustrated. "Maybe if we…no, we'd need Scotty for that…well, we could…try to trick them!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He resigned. "Tricking the natives seems like a logical approach, though I wonder how exactly we would go about doing that."

Kirk had no answer for that one. He groaned, images of his torn, damaged, dying friends flashing before his eyes. "If we could just…_observe_ their culture for a short time, we may be able to figure something out…but how would we get down there, unnoticed?" He leaned back. "They obviously find grass sacred, and I think they've got a thing for clocks, too. We could threaten them."

Uhura shook her head even before Spock said anything. "Yes—we _could_ threaten them. But—forgive me, Captain—they could simply kill Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott right away…and even if we wanted to, we couldn't carry out our threat. It's against the prime directive." Spock agreed with Nyota.

"But we _could_ use a threat, so long as it wasn't the main part of the plan." Riley said, head resting on his hands in thought. Kirk nodded. "We'd have to think of something else, use threats as a 'plan B' or 'part two'."

"Sir, I believe that the woman had…a certain tolerance for me." Spock suggested, hiding the amusement in his voice. "Perhaps this could be used to our advantage?"

Kirk didn't say anything. His head leaned on his hand which was bent backward and covering his mouth slightly, his elbow propped up on the table. Riley didn't speak either, but Uhura seemed panicked and her eyes darted back and forth between Mr. Riley and the Captain, waiting for one of them to say something. Kirk assumed that Nyota knew exactly what everyone was thinking.

"Now, see here…" The lieutenant began, slightly ticked off and slightly upset. "You don't propose that we send Mr. Spock down to Xenoan, do you?" Kirk and Spock exchanged glances. "Oh, you can't! He'll be killed!"

"Captain, I could contact the woman and request to see her kingdom. There, I shall observe the culture and attempt to find where our officers are. Hopefully I shall gain knowledge of how to rescue Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov, and the 'plan B' can be put into affect from there." Spock explained. Uhura was horrified.

"Spock—you can't honestly expect…Captain, you won't let him…will you?" She pleaded slowly. Kirk sighed.

"Trust me, I don't like it any more than you do, Lieutenant." The C.O muttered, shaking his head. "But we don't have much of a choice here. Spock could at least try to _contact_ …whatever it's—her—name was."

"T'Ke~ltin'Izalach, sir."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I don't even want to know how you did that, Mr. Spock. Now—you and Lieutenant Uhura are to go to the bridge and attempt to contact the woman...let no one but Spock be seen or heard on the transmission. Mr. Riley, you are to return to your post. I'll be on the bridge momentarily." Kirk said. "Dismissed."

With that, the three officers stood up, two looking emotionless and one rather glum. They stepped out of the conference room, the sliding doors closing behind them. Kirk rose and strode over to the intercom, flipping a switch quickly and crossing his arms.

"Kirk to bridge," He said nonchalantly. A short silence.

"Bridge…Èprouvé here."

"Em—Spock and Uhura are on their way back up. I'm headed to sickbay to check on Sulu." The Captain explained. The Ensign coughed quietly, then sighed.

"Alright. Let me know how he's doing…I'm worried, too." The girl responded. Kirk gave himself his usual, lopsided smile and nodded to the intercom.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, Jim."

"No problem. Kirk out." With that, the captain walked away from the intercom, out of the room and into the hallway. He took the few steps toward the turbolift and stepped inside, commanding it to go to sickbay. He waited a few moments before it stopped and the doors opened, then he exited the turbolift and entered sickbay.

McCoy was leaning over the semi-conscious Sulu, and didn't even turn when the automatic doors opened.

"He'll be fine, Jim, you should be on the bridge." Said the Doctor. Kirk blinked.

"Bones…that was creepy." The Captain said slowly, staring at McCoy like he was insane. _Then_ Leonard turned around, giving his friend a sly smile, then turned back to Sulu. "What's wrong with him?" Kirk questioned.

The CMO sighed. "Shock…led to a mental breakdown. Can't say I'm surprised, and can't say I blame 'im, either. It got to me, too." McCoy said quietly. "I'm keepin' him here for a few hours after he wakes up, then under surveillance for a while."

Kirk nodded and stayed quiet for a bit. Finally, he spoke. "…Spock may be going down there."

Bones almost accidentally shot the hypospray he was holding into his own arm, but he saved himself last minute. Thank goodness…wouldn't want to relive another "Guardian of Forever" incident. Kirk quickly pushed that from his mind, thinking of Edith Keeler for only an instant. McCoy walked over to his commanding officer with a horrified look on his face, as if he was waiting for a "just kidding, Bones." or a "Stop it with the face, Bones, I wasn't serious.", so when Kirk didn't say anything else, he was shocked.

"Jim," He gasped, exasperated. "You can't be…are you…has _he_…is he out of his Vulcan _mind?!"_ No answer. "Jim, no, you can't let him—he'll be _killed_, Jim! Don't you understand? I hate it, too, but Chekov is probably dead already! Sure, arsenic doesn't work that quickly but combined with the blood loss, and undoubtedly failing organs…and Scotty! Scotty will be dead by tomorrow morning, poison or not! Even if I got to them _right now,_ there's no way I'd be able to save them! Let alone Spock! Jim—don't let Spock go down there, there's no point; Scotty and Chekov can't be helped, and they'll just kill him, too, and then _you'll_ want to go down there and get your ass kicked and _I won't be able to put you back together again!"_ McCoy was shouting now, and Sulu was starting to stir. He took a few steps back and injected something into the man, who fell back into sleep. He sighed, and backed off. "Sorry. I was out of line."

Jim looked shocked for a moment, then composed himself. "No, Bones…believe me, I don't like it any more than you do."

Leonard shook his head. "You can't send him out there, Jim, you just…_can't_." He said gruffly, hand through his hair. "If we have to leave without Scotty and Chekov, then…that's already bad enough—but without _Spock_? Be reasonable, Jim, we'd _both_ be a wreck."

Kirk chewed on his lip, actually considering that for a moment. Suddenly the doctor looked embarrassed, and Kirk just couldn't imagine why. He sighed, finally, and said "I'm sorry, Bones, but there is no alternative…Spock's made his decision, and if it doesn't work, then it'll be on _my_ head."

McCoy actually stamped his foot down on the ground, like a child throwing a temper-tantrum. "That's exactly what I _mean, _Jim! You'll blame yourself and you'll be a wreck—you'd be unfit for duty! And there would be no Spock or Scotty to take your place while I kept you in sickbay for God knows how long. Command would go right to Emily—and you _know_ she wouldn't want that."

Jim grimaced. "That's enough, Doctor McCoy." The CMO withdrew immediately—any use of formalities and rank with Kirk meant that he meant business. "Spock's made his decision; I've made mine. If the plan goes…unfortunately, then everyone will take up their new roles and move on, just like when any other officer is killed." They both went pale at that, realizing that they had absolutely no faith that the plan would work, and _that_ was a bad sign. Kirk cleared his throat and McCoy hung his head. "I'm going back up to the bridge. I'll…keep you posted."

Bones nodded. "Same." He said, looking toward the semi-conscious Sulu.

Kirk strode out of sickbay, the automatic doors shutting behind him and leaving his friend alone with his thoughts. What had just happened ran through his mind a few more times before he'd realized it.

_"If we have to leave without Scotty and Chekov, then…that's already bad enough—but without _Spock_? Be reasonable, Jim, we'd _both_ be a wreck."_

Sonuvabitch.

The one time Bones actually _admits_ that he cares for Spock, Jim didn't even notice fast enough to make fun of him for it. He actually considered going back and saying something, but thought the better of it.

But McCoy was right—they _would_ both be a wreck. Emma, too. For a long time. Sure—Uhura and Chapel would be pretty messed up as well, but they'd get over it. There wasn't a bond on the entire ship as strong as the four of them. Except, perhaps, Sulu and Scotty and Chekov…and that was reason number 42918 why they needed to rescue the prisoners.

"Bridge," Kirk said dismissively once he stepped onto the turbolift. He stayed quiet for a while, lost in thought. This had been one of the hardest few days in his Starfleet career—along side the time when Spock went through his pon farr, when McCoy went insane and got stuck in the past, when McCoy got terminally ill, when McCoy was tortured to near death…and the times where Kirk had to send his ship to certain doom, indefinitely murdering himself and his entire crew in order to save the universe. Thankfully, everything always worked out in the end…but would it this time?

The automatic doors slid open and Jim stepped onto the bridge. Uhura hurriedly held an index finger up to her lips, motioning for the Captain not to make a sound. He looked to the screen and saw that no one was there, but the room was. He wondered what was going on, but he just nervously walked off screen and stood next to Emma, who was at her console.

"What's going on?" He whispered to the girl. She turned away from her console with a hushed cough to face her friend. The circles under her eyes had grown darker.

"There was a guard watching their communications systems." Emily muttered. "He—she—_it_ went to go get that woman who contacted us before. We're just waiting, for now." Kirk nodded and turned to see the screen. Everyone held their breath while they waited for the guard's return. Spock just kept his cool, watching the screen with the utmost patience, his hands clasped behind his back. "How…how was Sulu?" Èprouvé asked quietly.

Jim shook his head. "Bones said he was in shock, he…_should_ be alright." He responded.

The Ensign didn't take that as a hopeful enough answer. She coughed quietly, staring at the floor and then turning back to her console. She pressed a few buttons, flipped a switch, and still, Kirk noticed, the screen remained blank. They sighed simultaneously, then exchanged looks.

There was a rustling sound from the view screen, and again all heads on the bridge turned to face it. A guard and the first woman reappeared on the screen, both seemingly irritated, though the woman also with a hint of curiosity.

"What do you want?" She demanded, lavender arms crossed.

Spock gave her his famous not-smile. The soft eyes and the raising of the eyebrows. Just about as close to smiling as Spock would ever get under normal circumstances. "I wish to observe your civilization. I find your culture and beliefs on humans most…_fascinating._"

------

A/N: Gosh, that took a long time! Once again, sorry, I've had a rough week at school and it's just…blah. I'll try to get the chapters written faster, promise! Jynx out…=D


	5. Clocks and Intercourse

------

A/N: Oh. My. Gosh. I'm so sorry! Okay, excuse time! I'm failing two classes, a literary agency accepted my manuscript, and my computer broke TWICE! Excuse my poor writing; I have a cold/the flu/ bronchitis/pneumonia (that shows how long it's been since I've updated ^^').

Disclaimer: (I own nothing but the plot and my OC!)

Warnings: Violence…Smex. Mild smex. Barely even a mention of smex. But it's there.

-------------------

The conversation…went well. It actually didn't last as long as Kirk thought it would. _She_ seemed absolutely thrilled that another, non-disgusting, species would wish to observe their humble kingdom. Yes…quote, unquote, that's what _she_ said.

So, Spock was to beam down to the planet, all alone. By himself. She would give him a tour. Spock would…learn about their culture, about the grass and clocks, and find out where the officers were being held. He would distract _her,_ who was obviously their leader, until the crew could figure out whether they were going to make threats, just barge in and break the officers out, or some mixture of both. Either way—Spock was going down to the planet.

Kirk didn't like that one bit.

"_Captain's log, Stardate…supplemental. Mr. Spock intends to beam down to the planet and observe the culture of it's inhabitants. He shall enter their civilization, their…kingdom of hatred, and attempt to learn of any and all weaknesses. Meanwhile, my _remaining_ senior officers will devise a plan while we…wait for any sign of my best friend."_

"Emma, you have the conn." Kirk said disdainfully as he rose. Èprouvé stood up, and stared at him, looking ready to protest, but the Captain put his hand up to stop her from arguing. "We're missing Mr. Spock, Mr. Scott, Mr. Sulu, and Mr. Chekov. You're the _only_ officer on this bridge qualified to command."

With that, the Ensign's mouth clamped shut and she stared at her feet in embarrassment.

Kirk strode off of the bridge and made his way down to see off Spock. When he finally got to the transporter pad, McCoy was facing off with Spock, giving him the same beef that he gave to Kirk. James crossed his arms and glared at the doctor. Spock was just standing there, taking it, and for an instant he looked past Bones and gave a not-exasperated look to Kirk.

McCoy noticed and stopped, following Spock's gaze back to the Captain. Bones cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back, giving a nod to Kirk.

"Jim." He acknowledged quietly, not looking to his eyes and obviously a little embarrassed.

He was mad at first but it melted into his lopsided smile. Only Bones could pull something like that and not get in trouble. Kirk found it…so very McCoy, simply put. There was no other way to describe the act. He stepped over to his two friends…his two brothers, and stared bravely into the eyes of the one who he was about to send to his probable death.

…Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"_Captain."_ Spock said, one eyebrow raised. He knew what he was thinking, Kirk could tell. Jim sighed, and he saw Bones look…more upset than he had ever seen him look, and then turn away from the two others.

"Emily wanted to be here, too, but…" Kirk started, one hand behind his head as the guilt on his shoulders got a little heavier.

"But, does Ms. Èprouvé not need to command the bridge at present?" The Vulcan asked, head tilted slightly in mocking confusion.

"Exactly."

Spock just nodded, trying to lighten the air a bit. The transporter officer tapped on his console as a subtle reminder that _she_ did not want to be kept waiting, and the Captain exhaled slowly.

"Be careful, Spock, please." He said quietly. Bones slowly turned his head to at least partially see them, but his body still faced away from his brothers.

"I have the upmost confidence that the mission will go as expected…Jim." Spock said, first instinct to use formalities but realizing that Kirk and McCoy were both very emotional at the moment. "But I will take care." The Vulcan added.

Kirk nodded numbly, and gave him a forced smile.

After a nod to McCoy, Spock stepped onto the pad and beamed down to the planet, and a knot the size of a bowling ball formed in Kirk's stomach.

-------------------

"Clocks, Mr. Spock, are the only way we can keep a schedule. The only easy way we can know the time, and, of course, there is one other, more important reason that I charge you will find most fascinating."

"And what might that be, madam?" Spock replied, seeming genuinely interested. He hadn't been down in the Kingdom for ever—twenty minutes yet. The trip down was…most displeasing for him. Their primitive version of elevators were quite unstable and it was a very, _very_ long way down if one were to break or if a person fell out. After introductions, and several logical explanations for his reasoning of wanting to see the Kingdom, _she_ was more than happy to give the Vulcan a grand tour.

"I realize that you hail from Vulcan, sir, but having been acquainted with those lecherous fiends for an undue extended amount of Time—" Spock felt a little pang of guilt with that comment, a fierce desire to verbally defend his comrades, but, of course, suppressed it. "I suppose you know of their…oh, what _was_ that odd word? Zodiac, Mr. Spock?"

He nodded to the woman, avoiding her piercing eyes. "Yes, indeed I have. The Zodiac myth is actually quite common amongst most Earth cultures, though each differs from the other."

T'Ke~ltin'Izalach waved him off as they turned a corner to look at—yet another giant clock tower with hundreds of smaller clocks surrounding it. "The entire Kingdom has the same Time, there are no "Time zones" as there are on other planets. We do not account for the daylight whilst we are down here—and therefore everyone has the same schedule. Our… "zodiac" is not distributed by month nor year, but by Time of day." The woman explained. "And ours, unlike other cultures, is proven true. Those born at precisely Chuta hours and Chuta minutes, like myself—oh, pardon me, Mr. Spock, I forgot the translation for Chuta. Uhm…"

She drew seven lines in the dirt below her with her left hoof.

"Seven, madam?"

"Ah! Yes, that is it! Seven hours and seven minutes, precisely. Like myself, those born at seven hours and seven minutes shall rule the Kingdom until death. Then, after death, the one who was born at seven hours, seven minutes directly after the previous ruler was shall take over. There is roughly three or four born at that time per year." She paused a moment, admiring a clock, and went on. "Those born at…_thirteen_ hours, thirteen minutes…are killed upon birth. You see, they are quite bad luck. Always trying to change the power, defying the will of Those Who Gave Us Fields, Drink, and Time, so two hundred or so years ago it was decided that they shall be killed."

Spock stopped and looked at her. If Doctor McCoy had been present, the correct phrase would have been: "What the _fuck?!_"

However, the doctor was not present, and a Vulcan would never be the bearer of such profanity. The Queen, as it seemed, went on.

"Those born at exactly five hours also die directly after birth. We do not kill them—they just die. Those Who Gave Us Fields, Drink, and Time instructed me that five hours was the prime hour for children, and that they wished the best children to be with Them for sweet company and worship."

"Do…_They_ instruct you personally?" Spock asked, eyebrows raised. The woman nodded proudly.

"Oh, yes. While I sleep. I must be alone. They come and wake me, give me answers and instructions. They then clip my shoulder," She demonstrated by lightly tapping a spot on her shoulder. "And I resume rest, thereafter which They take Their leave."

(…shoulder + sleep= ! )

_Someone_ in this Kingdom was making decisions, and it was not. T'Ke~ltin'Izalach. Whoever these people were, they had their own nerve pinch remarkably similar or, perhaps, identical to his own. These people were convincing this woman to kill for no legitimate reason.

"Also," She went on. "Time discerns fur, hair, and eye color. Those born at the same Time will look somewhat similar."

Hmm. "Fascinating." Spock muttered. "Is there any logical reason for these instances?" He asked, then quickly added, "Aside from "Them", that is."

The woman shook her head with a shrug. "We have never researched it. Throughout the day subtle changes in the Kingdom's atmosphere occur, this may be the cause But, of course, to our knowledge it is only Them."

Ah. So this woman had thought about the possibility of They being illegitimate, otherwise she would have never bothered to learn about the atmosphere.

"Mr. Spock—may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Caption Kirk mentioned something called…friends? And love?" T'Ke~ltin'Izalach began nervously. "I did what research I could from the remains of the human building on the surface…but I can find no direct translation, and what I did find I'm afraid I did not understand."

The Vulcan was uncomfortable but kept his discomfort in check. Love, for many of his species, was a sketchy topic. "Love, for the humans, is actually not very common amongst non-humanoid civilizations. Friendship is one degree of love. Perhaps you know someone whom you feel protective of, whom you worry for, whom you confide in and trust. Maybe this person helps you or keeps you company, or you spend the majority of your time happily with this person. That…is a very vague description of friendship, but the best way to allow you to understand." Spock explained, his hands fiddling behind his back. The woman's eyes shone with interest, no longer fiendish, but like those of a curious or excited adolescent Earth child.

"Ah, yes! I believe I do have friends! Not as you described them. In this Kingdom, we do not live with those who birthed us, nor our siblings, but we live with our mates—when we meet them, and whoever else we choose. We tend to choose our…friends."

"Indeed." Spock said quietly. "You mentioned mates. They are another form of love."

T'Ke~ltin'Izalach shook her head. "I saw that in one of the colony's archives. That confused me. As you put it, love is…caring for someone, wanting to be with them always."

Spock raised an eyebrow. She was starting to understand. He nodded in response, making mental notes for the future if—when—he got back to the _Enterprise._

"It is quite uncommon to feel attachment toward a mate here. Mates are selected by Those Who Gave Us…well, you know. They are selected based upon Time of birth and health, not upon personality. This is to limit undesirable physical traits." She said with a sigh. Then, she stood in front of Spock, her eyes staring directly into his. "Do Vulcans experience love as humans do? It is a…not so bad quality."

"We experience friendship. Vulcans, unlike humans, do not have choice about who they will be with, but we do have a right to decline from the relationship if the partner is not to our liking. If the partnership does not go as planned, both have the choice of who they will…marry, is the best way I can put it." Spock said. "However, most of the time we do love our partner."

"Do you…have a partner, Mr. Spock?" She asked, something in her eyes that Spock did not understand.

"She decided that she preferred someone else. So no, the marriage never went through."

"And you do love." The woman repeated.

"As much as any human."

Spock knew where she was going with this. He didn't particularly _like_ it, but it was a most efficient way to receive the information required, as well as T'Ke~ltin'Izalach's trust.

…Besides, she was only destroying humans because she thoroughly believed they were evil, because that's what she was told. And aside from that, she was a very interesting, philosophical, intelligent, and…beautiful woman.

So, there was no logical reason to protest.

She put her hand on his shoulder and began to lead him into a nearby door. "I," She began mischievously. "Should like to love as well."

----

"Jim," Èprouvé addressed, staring at the mission ops console. They had finally gotten a helmsman up on the bridge, so she was no longer running around, trying to operate three stations at the same time.

The Captain nearly rushed over to her, trying to stay calm but not quite doing a good job. "What is it? Have you got a signal?"

"Spock's too far below the surface to get a good signal, but he must have just gone into a building or something. I have _a_ signal, but it's hard to read."

"Can you tell if he's alright?" Kirk pressed nervously.

The woman bit her lip. "Don't know. They only thing I've got says his heart rate is up significantly." She explained in an almost grim tone.

Jim groaned. "I can only imagine the torture he's going through right now. Oh, Spock, what have I done?"


	6. Tours and Doors

**Explanation notes: **

The reason it took so long to get this chapter out is simple. I had about four pages…nearly nine hundred words responding angrily to an anonymous review. Every time I opened the document to work on the chapter, I would end up editing my author's notes instead, either adding more curse words or, eventually, shortening them. Time heals all wounds, and I officially couldn't care less and deleted 99% of my author's notes as well as the cruel review.

I'd just like to point out that the review itself had misspellings and misusage of grammar, and what the review rudely pointed out as wrong were all right, I even checked my dictionary and grammar textbook. You, poor soul, need to brush up on your English.

I'd also like to say that last chapter was a "crack chapter", done for comic relief purposes as the previous chapters and chapters yet to come are grim.

What is written below is a snippet of my original author's notes, unedited, to show you all how furious I was so you'll understand why this chapter took so long. It's all in quotes and bold. (Note, almost none of what I said I'm actually going to do. If I get another flame I'll just deleted it or ignore it. ^^)

"**Lastly….**

**HOW. DARE. YOU. ADVERTISE. ON. MY. REVIEWS.**

**Just for that, I'm going to tell all of my readers not to go buy that fucking book. Hey, readers! Don't read "Eats, Shoots, and Leaves."**

**Fuck you.**

**Love, Jynx!**

***Ahem*. Now that that's been said… on to the regular old crap!**

**Disclaimer: I own the plot, **_**it, Them, **_**the Kingdom, and Èprouvé. That's it.**

**Warning: Cursing above, and in the actual story, and in this sentence: fuck. **

**I do believe I mentioned that I have pneumonia and a cold and a deviated septum all at the same time and that my writing won't be at its best? PLUS MIDTERMS?! Anonymous flames will be…embarrassingly addressed in the following chapter, as shown above. Anonymous good reviews shall be praised! Oh, and there's violence, probably.**

**A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful (and not so wonderful) reviews, because even the not-so-wonderful reviews make my review count go up and have other people read my amazing story! So there. ^^.****"**

Oh, and no more chapters until midterms are over. _

Now…on to Scotty! (!)

* * *

The Chief Engineer groaned aloud, a lingering, mournful and painful sound that ripped through his torn throat and cracked chest, quietly echoing around the stone room and sending him deeper into agonizing pain. Why couldn't he just _die_ and be done with it all?

Chekov, it seemed, had been given the luxury. Although, Scotty preferred to die of blood loss or damaged organs than to be given poison, as Chekov had. Still. While he was glad that the navigator was put out of his misery, Scott, in his final hours, was quite lonely. He was lonely and afraid and in pain, and he wished that Pavel hadn't had to die. He was just a boy, still, he had so much left to _live_ for.

_Wait a second._ Did that corpse just _breathe?_

No, that can't be. It must have been a trick of darkness, a hallucination caused by the Engineer's injuries and loss of blood and lack of air. Corpses couldn't breathe. Only live people breathe, and Chekov certainly wasn't _alive._ He was the deadest man of any ten dead men in the universe. So, either Scotty was hallucinating, or he was unconscious and he had just dreamt it.

…Well, no need to pinch himself. He was already in enough pain to know that he was awake, and everything was very, very real.

So he was hallucinating. Which was understandable. In fact, he'd be worried if he _wasn't_ hallucinating, since he seemed to be thinking clearer now than he had been since he'd gotten to this wretched place, when he should have been completely faded away by now. Though _they_ hadn't come in over half an hour, Scott guessed. What was going on?

The bad thing about having his thinking clear again was…well, the realization of everything. Just how much he hurt. Knowing that he was really going to die. Knowing that Chekov was already dead. Knowing that the _Enterprise_ would be leaving without them, and never again would he tend to her beautiful engines…

_Okay, really now. _Did that corpse just _gasp?_ _Groan? Writhe in pain?_

Well then! He was obviously not hallucinating and that was _obviously_ not a corpse!

Scotty opened his mouth to say something, but decided better of it last minute. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked and his inner throat thinly coated with dry blood that he continuously coughed out. He didn't want to send himself into even worse pain than he was in already—if that was even possible. Instead, he watched the young ensign, checking to see that he was _really_ alive. And yes, he was.

But not for long. Definitely not for long.

Yes, Chekov had been poisoned. Scotty didn't have to be a doctor to notice that the ensign's blood was off color, that his eyes were a sparkling red tint. Scott lay silently in the dark, staring at Chekov and going over each injury, trying to remember the action taken to cause it for lack of anything else to do. He had stopped passing out, thankfully, so _they_ were not coming as often as they had been. About two visits ago, one of them must have hit a nerve or something, because Scotty could no longer lose consciousness. Oh, he was _tired,_ and dizzy, and still continuously _fading,_ but never actually passing out. He'd even tried to fall asleep, because he felt so weak, but he couldn't. He'd tried putting himself in a Vulcan's shoes. He had pushed the pain aside and just tried to think of some happy memories to usher him out of this life. It worked, for a while, but after a few new injuries and readjustments of some old ones, the pain returned tenfold.

A gasp, cut off instantly. A groan. Grinding his teeth in pain. Clutching his side. A wheeze…closing his eyes.

Oh, please. Please! Why couldn't someone just _kill him and get it over with?!_

* * *

She lay next to him, their bodies draped in a blanket made of the pink fur of an animal native to the Kingdom. She smiled at him as she brushed her hand through his now damp hair, for the room had gotten very warm.

After a few moments she stood up and began to get dressed again, and Spock did the same.

By this time, Spock had his plan all figured out. He believed that he had gained T'Ke's trust (She had allowed him to call her T'Ke instead of her full name, because she preferred it, as did Spock.) All that he had to do now was find where Scott and Chekov were…and figure out how to get them free.

"T'Ke," Spock addressed.

"Yes?"

"Your culture fascinates me. I believe I wish to observe the two humans that are in your keeping, so I can inform the other Vulcans of the proper way to assert our dominance over the human race."

She clapped her hands together. "Oh, splendid!" T'Ke said excitedly. "I shall take you to them post hah-stay."

Spock gave her his infamous not-smile. "I believe you intended to say 'post-haste'?"

She blushed an indigo color. "Forgive me, I have never heard the words before, only read them."

The Vulcan nodded. "Understandable."

The two left their secret place, and T'Ke led him across the district. Spock counted four hundred and thirty-seven clocks on the way. According to her, there were four million, three hundred, and ninety eight clocks in this district alone, the largest, but only one of eight. Two more clocks were on the way, because the almost exact number was beginning to bother the adolescent residents.

It actually took a rather long time to reach their destination, forty-five minutes precisely, and what seemed like an even longer time for the guard to find the right key.

Eventually, however, T'Ke was in possession of the key and unlocked the door to the torture chamber where Chekov and Scott had been.

Spock stepped inside and immediately assessed the situation, glancing at his tricorder as he made up excuses as to why he was using it. Chekov was comatose and had nearly no time left. Scotty wasn't as bad but he still _was_ bad, and his life was in serious danger and would also die soon if nothing was done. Blood was everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, on the iron chains that bound them, Scott had a cut on his chest so deep that Spock could see his bare bone from where he stood. They both needed Doctor McCoy **now.**

** "**Beautiful, isn't it?" She broke in, interrupting Spock's epiphany. He raised an eyebrow. "It's like _art._ A dark art, yes, but art nonetheless. Look at the curve of that wound, how perfectly the blood falls out of it. It's like ruby paint."

That actually bothered him. It did not sting, like the few times where an incapacitated crewmember of even a poisoned Jim would call him "half-breed", it was not offensive—it was more like the time when a nearby Vulcan ship exploded, a strange kind of pain. Spock's stomach churned, though he remained blank.

"Indeed." He said finally. "This is, certainly, a most efficient way to prevent humans from talking too much."

She laughed, and the dark sound of it echoed around the chamber. The Vulcan heard a gasp from the shadows, and Scotty lifted up his head ever so slightly, only enough to see Spock's feet. The maniacal laugh had woken him up, but he had heard Spock's voice while asleep. Scotty had assumed that his voice had been a dream, but he called out to him anyway.

"Mr. Spock—" He choked out, sounding like a pathetic hiss. Scott took a second to catch his breath, but was too hopeful to allow himself to give in to the pain and darkness. "Tha' you, sir?" This one caused him to go into a reverberating coughing fit, which should have and would have knocked him out again if his will power wasn't so strong at the moment.

"Yes, Mr. Scott, I am here." He responded quietly, his voice almost consoling. There was a long moment of silence, and if he wasn't able to hear the labored yet weak breathing of his two officers, Spock would have assumed they had both died. They looked—they _were_—gravely injured. Perhaps mortally. Scott struggled for another minute or so, T'Ke patiently waiting only because of her extreme interest. Finally, Scott was able to force out one small word:

"_Go—"_

Then he lost consciousness, blood seeping out of his mouth. Spock didn't need him to be awake to know how his sentence would be finished. It would have been something along the lines of, "_Go,_ get out of here and save yourself. Don't let them find you…"

He stood up a little straighter, eyes still locked on the Scotsman. "I have seen quite enough, T'Ke." Spock said quietly.

She looked shocked. "Has this upset you? I do not understand, I thought you were different than the humans…"

Spock shook his head, "You misunderstand my intentions. I no way am I upset, in fact, I am grateful for having seen them—this is certainly a method which I must discuss with my fellow Vulcans. I wish to go back to the _Enterprise_, and contact my people. I will be back."

T'Ke smiled and led him out of the chamber, taking him back up to the surface world. He was almost relieved to see the fields of grass again, to breathe air that wasn't contaminated with blood. She kissed him goodbye, and once she had climbed back into one of the Kingdom's hole-entrances, Spock flipped open his communicator.

"Spock to _Enterprise._ Spock to _**Enterprise.**_"

Spock heard a few leftover voices from the bridge before everyone quited down so the Captain could hear the transmission, it always worked like that. The last thing Spock heard before Kirk answered was the voice of a raspy young girl:

"—his reading! Spock's alive! YES!"

"Kirk here." Jim replied urgently. "Spock, are you alright? What's happened?"

"I am uninjured, Captain. I shall explain everything once I am beamed aboard. Spock out."

A few seconds later, the sound of the transporter beam filled the Vulcan's ears, and he suddenly found himself aboard the _Enterprise, _having only been as thankful for that as he was now a relatively small number of times. In the transporter room was Doctor McCoy, Captain Kirk, two security officers, an a transporter officer. He assumed that Ms. Chapel needed to watch after sickbay while the doctor was gone, and that Ms. Eprouve needed to watch the bridge while the Captain was gone.

"Spock," Kirk addressed breathlessly, worry heavy in his voice as he and McCoy swiftly stepped toward him. "What happened down there? Are you sure you're alright?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I have already specified, Jim, that I am perfectly unharmed." Spock repeated, careful to use Kirk's first name as he was obviously quite stressed at the moment.

"_I'm_ the doctor, and _I'll_ be the judge of that." McCoy grumbled, fiddling around with his instruments.

"Doctor, I ask that you please make this brief, for there is little time—"

"Then talk while I examine you, you lousy…" Leonard trailed off, deciding to leave out _green-blooded hobgoblin_ this time. Spock had certainly been missed, he thought.

"Did you get any information we can use?" the Captain asked, looking him up and down subconsciously for any visible physical injuries.

"Yes, I do believe there are certain aspects of their culture that can be used against them. Also," described the Vulcan. "I have found the location of Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov."

Both McCoy and Kirk froze.

"…How are they?" Jim murmured reluctantly.

Spock paused for a brief moment, not wishing to upset his best friends further. "I have come to the conclusion that they require emergency medical attention _now._ I'm afraid it can not wait any longer. Our navigator and Chief Engineer…our _friends,_ are dying."


	7. Plan B

**A/N: I'm not even going to try to explain why this is so late. Life happened, I guess. Anyway, please don't point out typos in your reviews. It bothers me, because after a certain amount of time, you can't go back and fix it. Also, just mentioning again: anything at all that the natives say is not a typo. I will triple check to make sure that their dialogue has no typos or grammatical errors on my part in it. It's all their syntax and dialect. **

**Also…you should buy my book. For sale on Lulu, it's called "Abreaction: A Holocaust Story" **

**Disclaimer: Graphic descriptions, slight hint of Spock/Uhura (I'm sorry, I ship them so much…)**

**_***IMPORTANT: Guys, the rule about not having a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story is confusing me and support won't e-mail me back. Can anyone tell me if I'm allowed to ask my readers to determine whether a character lives or dies? Please either answer in a review or a private message, whichever._**

**Ready?**

* * *

"_Dying,_" repeated Captain Kirk, in awe.

Doctor McCoy set down his medical scanner. "Mr. Spock," he began cautiously, trying to remain calm. "I need you to relate to me as many of the injuries on Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov that you can recall."

Spock's brow contracted slightly. "I used my tricorder to assess the situation. Ensign Chekov is comatose, due to a combination of massive blood loss and the poison. All of his ribs are broken, as well as his right wrist and left ankle…" The Vulcan continued to describe the various issues with Chekov, only solidifying the CMO's lack of hope. Spock then went on to speak of the engineer, listing his broken bones, the gaping hole in his body, blood loss, and the other medical dangers.

"Unfortunately, my tricorder did not give me specifics on injuries such as cuts and bruises, as it was using too much power to list the men's other ailments. However, in the hallway leading to the dungeon in which Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov are being kept, I took notice of traditional leather whips and iron daggers that were covered in seemingly fresh blood. Of course, we can assume from this that their flesh wounds were attained from—"

"They're being kept…in a dungeon?" Kirk clarified.

McCoy shook his head. "What did you expect, Captain, a five star hotel?"

Spock ignored the doctor's remark and replied, "Yes, sir. They are currently chained to the floor of a very dark, humid dungeon. Based off of their conditions, our engineer and navigator have a very slim chance of survival."

For a few moments, the trio stayed silent. McCoy mulled over the information he had just been given, trying to figure out how to go about treating the two officers if the other two figured out a way to get the officers off of the planet. Chekov could have a blood transfusion after all of his wounds were closed to get rid of the arsenic, but there were, of course, easier methods; and of course he would need treatment for the side effects of the poison as well—not to mention therapy to prevent PTSD, which would almost definitely occur otherwise.

As for Scotty, he would be easier to help. Still extremely difficult, but not impossible. Broken ribs weren't exactly a quick fix, but McCoy could handle it, and as long as the wounds were closed swiftly and he was given proper care and therapy, Mr. Scott could be back on his feet in three weeks. The doctor just needed to work fast, and act immediately…which, unfortunately, was not an option at the moment. Chekov and Scott were still beneath the surface of the planet, possibly even being tortured further.

"Well, Mr. Spock, do you have any ideas?" asked the captain in a worried, hushed voice.

Spock hesitated. "Yes, sir, I believe that I do. I also believe that it will be an easy feat. However," he paused. "You and Dr. McCoy may be a little skeptical of my plan."

"And your plan would be…?" McCoy pried.

"I believe that the most logical approach would be…for myself to replace Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov." Spock replied, in an almost grim tone. He knew what his friends' reactions would be, which was why he was so tentative. Kirk simply stared at the Vulcan, mouth agape. The doctor stayed silent for a moment, until he realized that either he would say it, or nobody would.

"Are you out of your Vulcan _mind?_" Leonard demanded. "That's pointless. Unethical. I may not even be able to _save_ Chekov and Scotty even if we do get them up here. Then you'll be in the same situation that they're in right now, and we'll have to come up with a plan to save _you_, and then if we don't, and Chekov and Scotty aren't saved either, we'll be out a first _and_ second officer, and probably a captain, too, since Jim would probably let his emotions interfere with his duties. It would just cause a whole slew of worse problems. I don't want you going down there again."

Spock waited for McCoy to finish his rant, and then continued. "If you would allow me to explain, Doctor. I have established…fair relations with the native's leader, T'Ke~ltin'Izalach. I led her to believe that Vulcans think poorly of humans, that I found her ways of exterminating them fascinating, and that I wanted to study her methods and tell the Vulcan leaders. She believes that my intentions were valid, and she allowed me to return to the Enterprise to contact my people. I told her that I would return." Spock paused for a moment, to see if either of his friends had any reaction. They did not, so he went on. "I simply have to only continue my façade. I can beam back down to the planet and inform T'Ke~ltin'Izalach that the Vulcans wish to perform tests on the two men while they are still alive. I have no doubt that she will allow us to transport them onto the _Enterprise_ for this reason. However," he hesitated. "I am not sure whether or not she will allow me to go with them. She may request that I remain on the planet with her. If she does demand that I stay, then I will stay. They have a religion, and their whole society is run by it. T'Ke explained their religion and culture to me and I have come to the conclusion that frauds may be posing as God-like authorities, instructing her while she sleeps."

Kirk's mouth shut, and he turned around, rubbing the slight stubble on his chin. "If she asks you to stay," he began slowly. "You will…expose their religion as faulty?"

"Yes, Captain."

McCoy had calmed down enough to regain rationale, but he still strongly opposed the idea. "And you believe this plan will actually work?" he asked.

"On the contrary, Doctor, I'm certain it will work." Spock said with a nod. "The natives are, intellectually, very intelligent creatures. However, they are not, as you would put it "street smart." They lack accurate common sense, from what I have observed. Then again, that is their culture."

"You can't be serious, Spock." McCoy pleaded in exasperation. "You actually think we'll allow you to go down there and get yourself killed?"

"I have no intention of dying today, Dr. McCoy, and even if I did—I do not think the decision is yours to make." Spock retorted.

"That's true," Kirk responded quietly, still not facing either of them. "It's mine."

The Doctor crossed his arms. "Jim!" he exclaimed in shock. "Be rational! At least call a conference, talk it over with the ranking officers, we can't just throw our first officer, our _friend_, out the—"

"What ranking officers, Bones?" the captain asked angrily. "Our first officer supports the idea. Now, we just have to ask Scotty, Chekov…oh, and Sulu, too, of course! Emily can't come, she's running the bridge. Bones, the meeting would consist of the three of us."

"What about _Uhura?_" McCoy demanded. "Don't either of you think she'll be a little opposed to this plan?"

Spock seemed to shrink back slightly, as did Jim. Kirk straightened out very quickly, however. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but we don't have much of a choice. We have to send Mr. Spock back down to Xenoan." Kirk put a hand on the doctor's right shoulder. "You were worried when we first sent him down, too. Everyone will pull through."

McCoy scowled and stormed out of the transporter room, to the turbolift.

"Bones!" Kirk called after him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, Spock, do you want to be beamed down again right away, or do you want a break—you can have lunch, talk to people…"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I believe I have stated the urgency of this situation, sir."

Jim smiled, embarrassed. "Right, right…well, good luck, Spock," he said as the first officer stepped onto the platform. "See you later." He was careful to not say goodbye. _Goodbye_ was too permanent.

"Of course, Captain." Spock responded lightheartedly. "Energize."

He disappeared before Kirk's eyes, causing the captain more stress. "_What have I done…?"_

* * *

McCoy paced the floor of sickbay as Nurse Chapel prepared hyposprays and assembled other medical officers to help prepare for the various impending surgeries and treatments. He paused a moment, hearing stirring in the far end of sickbay where Sulu was being kept temporarily. He pivoted, and strode across the room to get to the helmsman, who was now sitting up. The CMO pulled up a chair beside Sulu's bed.

"Feeling any better, lieutenant?" Bones asked.

At first, Sulu stared blankly at him, trying to recall what happened. He then shook his head, a rather grim look gracing his face. "Physically, yes, but—" Sulu cut himself off. "They—they were my best friends. Do you understand?"

McCoy gave a sorrowful but real smile. "Yes, Mr. Sulu, I understand." He laughed quietly. "I've seen Captain Kirk chained, stabbed, beaten, brutally attacked, knocked out, buried in tribbles—it's really hard, I know. But you know what? He always makes it through. Chekov and Scotty will, too."

Sulu's face grew significantly brighter. "You—you mean they're still alive?" he asked excitedly.

"Sure are," Bones replied. "Listen, Hikaru. Scotty and Chekov are in a lot of danger. They're both really hurt, they don't have a 100% chance of survival…but I think they'll make it. I really do, and I wouldn't say that if I didn't think it were true."

The helmsman looked up into the doctor's eyes. "What makes you think that?" he asked, almost bitterly.

McCoy smiled. "Chekov and Scotty are your best friends," he explained. "Mine are Kirk and—don't you tell him this—Spock. And Spock has gone down there to save your friends."

Sulu leaned back against the headboard of the bed, in minor shock.

"Now, don't you worry about a thing, Sulu, your friends will be just fine. Just fine…"

"I think you should take your own advice, sir." Sulu said quietly.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, then realized something wet was dripping down his cheek. He laughed quietly. "Tell anyone about this, Sulu, and I'll have you in sickbay with the measles for a month."


	8. The Rescue: Part I

**A/N: Any and all dialogue of the natives is full of **_**syntax**_** errors—not typos or grammar errors on **_**my**_** part. I'd like to give a shout out to Wikipedia and Bing translator, for helping me to learn about arsenic and the Russian language. Also, this chapter contains a lot of Spock.**

**Warnings: Graphic and intense scenes, minor cursing. ***THERE IS A SHORT SCENE WHERE SPOCK ENTERS THE COLONY'S BUILDING. IF YOU GET GROSSED OUT EASILY OR ARE WEAK OF HEART, SKIP THAT PART. IT IS VERY GRAPHIC.*****

**Disclaimer: I am not associated with Star Trek in anyway. Only the plot and original characters belong to me.**

* * *

Spock rematerialized on the surface of Xenoan, just outside of the entrance to the underground civilization. T'Ke was there, awaiting him with a smile of pointed yellow teeth. It was a disturbing, yet genuine smile. Her orange eyes glistened in interest at the sight of him. She had not brought her laser gun with her this time—the dangerous imp was completely unarmed. Spock thought back to the original plan suggested by Mr. Riley, which involved using false threats against the natives. He folded his hands neatly behind his back, deciding that it was for the best that they had decided against threats once Spock had beamed aboard the starship after seeing the civilization. The crew would have been unable to carry out their threats, and Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott would have been killed in the natives' rage.

"Ah, Spock!" T'Ke exclaimed in delight. "I was beginning to worry. Have you contacted your people?" she asked, interested only in the perpetual torture that would ensue if another race began to do to the humans what her own race had done.

"Yes, madam, I have." Spock began cautiously. "As I presumed, the Vulcans are, in fact, quite fascinated by your methods of human destruction."

She clapped her hands together in excitement. "That is good!" the imp said jubilantly.

"Indeed," he began cautiously. "However, in order to obtain more knowledge—to avoid any unnecessary complications," Spock paused. "We ask, in all sincerity, that the two officers you hold captive be transported up to the starship _Enterprise._" The alien's smile faded, so Spock swiftly began to elaborate his lie. "The Vulcans wish to conduct advanced experiments on the men, in order to optimize full potential for future killings."

T'Ke bit her lip, then slightly tilted her head. "But why do the Vulcans not simply take other humans hostage? Would that not be more…beneficial?"

Spock's hands began to move slightly behind his back, as the Vulcan felt uncomfortable. One might almost call him "nervous," but no—that was, of course, a human emotion. "Unfortunately not, T'Ke. You see, we could easily trick the humans into believing that we are attempting to assist the officers. However, taking two more, unharmed officers would be dangerous—if Starfleet found out, Vulcan could be attacked by hundreds of other planets."

"I see," she mumbled apprehensively. She looked for the right words. "How—how do I know that you are speaking the truth?"

The Vulcan thought for a moment, then stepped closer to her. He pressed his hand to her face and began to do a mind-meld. Spock sent clear thoughts of trust and honesty, as well as kindness and compassion. While these feelings did, initially, transfer to T'Ke, Spock soon began to feel terror emitting from her—and she soon jumped back, reaching into her holster for a laser gun which was not there.

"Astel'ach! Astel'ach, t'la~ptin! What is this strange power which you hold, Spock?" she demanded in a fearful cry. "What have you done?"

Spock was shocked to hear her call out in her native language. By the way she had said the words, he assumed he had just been called a demon or a traitor—some wicked insult along the lines of that, which made him grow tense. He proceeded cautiously. "A Vulcan mind meld, madam. Emotional transference. I wished for you to know that I, as well as my people, meant no harm." Worry began to grow in the back of Spock's mind. Had that one mistake jeopardized the entire rescue mission? Could this possibly mean the end of both Chekov and Scott, as well as Spock himself?

"Very well, Mr. Spock," T'Ke stammered, staying a few feet away from him. "The humans will be realized from capacity."

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Did you mean to say 'Released from captivity,' T'Ke?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, yes," she said, shaken. "Released from captivity. I will go below and get them myself. In the meantime," T'Ke paused, and stood up straight. "Please wait inside the building which the humans constructed. Maintenance on the grass is scheduled for today, in ten minutes. It is a ritual which cannot be viewed by outsiders."

Spock looked around. The grass, now very overgrown, was still stained with blood. He vaguely wondered why the blood hadn't seeped into the ground and fertilized the grass, but decided that it could very well just be something in the soil and deemed it unimportant. "Of course," he said simply, and he walked into the building. The guard, who had been waiting there, stepped out of the building to go down to the civilization with T'Ke~ltin'Izalach.

There was only one way to describe the Vulcan's feeling upon seeing the inside of the building: he was, quite frankly, very disturbed. Given the circumstances of his surroundings, it was a very logical feeling.

The jelly-like substance that he had seen on the screen from the _Enterprise_ when he was forced to watch Chekov and Scotty be beaten was still caked on the floor—only a small path had been cleared for walking, but aside from that, the floor was completely invisible under the red goo that was the ground-up remains of the colony. The smell of blood and death was overwhelming. Intestines were hung like old-fashioned streamers along the wall, like a sadistic macabre birthday party. Bones and other various remains were scattered across desks and tables, there was a detached finger bone stuck inside of an electrical socket. Uneasy, Spock turned to the wall in hopes of escaping the disquieting imagery. However, he faced even more gore. On the wall was several large sentences in the natives' language, written solely in blood. Spock didn't know what the sentences read, but the logical assumption was that it was something negative. He decided to simply stare at the door instead—the only thing on _that_ was a bloody handprint at the bottom, which Spock just tried to ignore.

He waited for nearly half an hour, hearing odd noises from outside of the building. He assumed that the noises were part of the ritual for cleaning and cultivating the sacred grass, and attempted to focus on the mission at hand. Spock knew that Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov had an extremely low chance of survival, yet he began going through the standard procedures that would need to be performed on them in his mind. The Vulcan needed to be absolutely certain that it was at all possible to save the men, as it seemed his own time was running out. Somehow, the mind meld had frightened T'Ke. He thought back to what she had told him about her superiors, who would contact her while she slept, and wondered if they, too, were capable of telepathy.

The noises outside soon faded out, and then stopped altogether. Spock heard footsteps, and the door opened.

* * *

"Captain Kirk," Èprouvé addressed. "The scanners are picking up Scotty and Chekov's signals again—they're on the surface of the planet with Mr. Spock and three of the aliens."

Kirk rose from his chair and swiftly strode over to her station. "How are they? Are they still alive?" he asked, in a soft and worried tone.

The ensign bit her lip. "Not good, sir. Mr. Scott is alive, but unconscious. Mr. Chekov is also alive and unconscious." She paused. "It looks pretty close for both of them, Captain."

"What about Spock?" Kirk probed.

"Scanners report First Officer Spock is still in perfect health," the woman replied.

"Good," he stated, only slightly relieved. It appeared that his best friend was not in immediate danger—but two of his other friends still were. Kirk went back to his chair and hailed the transporter room to prepare to beam up the landing party. When Mr. Riley, who was running the transporter, confirmed their coordinates, Jim felt more at ease. He leaned back in his chair and prayed for the best.

* * *

"Spock," T'Ke announced. "Your filthy human men may…" she took a moment to search for the right word. "_Beam_ back aboard your starship. However, you may not join them."

The Vulcan tensed. He had believed he would be forced to remain on the planet, but he had also hoped that he wouldn't be. "And why is that, T'Ke?" he asked.

"Because, Mr. Spock," the native began grimly. "You are to remain here as prisoner until I have spoken to Those Who Gave Us Fields, Drink, and Time about you. I wish to know whether you should be regarded as a God—or as a traitorous demon."

Spock had not been expecting that. "Traitorous demon, madam?" he asked innocently. He applied that the mind meld must have been something reportedly only done by Them, and his doing it implied that he was one of Them. He showed no fear to her as he tried to decipher his current situation.

She twiddled her thumbs nervously, her fluorescent eyes darting back and forth. "You shall not be treated as the humans were. You shall stay with me until I speak with Them. If you are one of Them, then you shall have my sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding—but if you are not one of Them, you shall be murdered more brutally than the humans were tortured, and it will be recorded. Caption Kirk will be hailed and forced to watch the recording." T'Ke said, more fear in her voice than rage. "Now. You are to contact your caption, and have him transport the humans aboard. Tell him you are fine but must stay here." This time, T'Ke reached into her holster and pulled out a laser gun. She held it parallel to Spock's chest—the area where a human heart would be. She was, thankfully, unaware of Vulcan physiology in comparison to humans and her own kind. Spock was grateful for that, and flipped open his communicator without question.

"Spock to _Enterprise,_" the Vulcan said nonchalantly. "Spock to _Enterprise._"

"_Enterprise,_ Captain Kirk here," responded the Captain in a voice that sounded as if he were attempting to suppress a tone of urgency.

"Captain, please prepare to beam Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Commander Scott aboard as soon as possible." Spock said, glancing at the officers who were lying on the ground, having seemingly been placed there quite carefully. Spock, the officers, T'Ke and a few other natives were standing near the entrance to their civilization—on a patch of dirt, away from any grass.

Kirk waited. "…and yourself, Mr. Spock?" he requested with hope.

Spock folded his hands neatly behind his back. "I am afraid not, Jim," he said nothing for an instant, seeing the glare of T'Ke. "Captain, I am quite alright—but I must stay here for some time." He paused again, then added: "Code green, sir. Spock out." He closed his communicator, then locked eyes with the native woman.

"Very good, Mr. Spock," T'Ke acknowledged. "The one in the red shirt—Scott—he said 'code green' to Caption Kirk as well. Does this 'code green' mean that all is well?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Of course, madam. Did you not intend me to inform my captain that—"

She cut him off. "Yes, yes…of course." The woman looked out into the fields somberly, as if disconnected from the world.

A golden light surrounded the two unconscious men, and they began to fade away. Within seconds, they had disappeared completely. The mission had been accomplished: even if Chekov and Scotty were to die, they would now die aboard the _Enterprise._

* * *

Code green. For a moment, and only a moment, the whole bridge was frozen. Would Spock end up in the same condition as Chekov and Scotty? A wave of regret flooded over Kirk.

The captain flipped a switch. "Mr. Riley, lock in on Scotty and Chekov and beam them up, I'll be right down," he demanded. The transporter officer acknowledged and said that Dr. McCoy was standing by. "Em, you have the conn," Kirk announced as he jumped out of his chair and practically sprinted to the turbolift. He didn't even hear her acknowledge him. The turbolift took him to the transporter room, and he got there just in time, nearly running over Bones and Chapel.

"Locked on to their coordinates, sir," Riley stated, fiddling with the buttons on the transporter mechanism.

"Energize," Kirk commanded breathlessly.

"Jim," McCoy said cautiously. "I need you to acknowledge that I may not be able to save them. I'm going to try as best as I can—I'll stay up for days if need be, but I just don't want you to get your hopes up. The crew will need their captain at full mental and emotional capacity. Do you understand?"

The captain only nodded, trying to catch his breath. A quirky noise, and light on the platform evolved into two life forms who were almost indistinguishable. Chekov's gold shirt was in tatters and stained with blood, and so little remained of Scotty's shirt that it could not even be called a shirt anymore. Scotty's face was swollen and covered in many bruises and cuts, he had a black eye and appeared to have a broken nose which was caked with dried blood. Chekov was disturbingly pale, starch white. He, too, had a black eye and some bruises and cuts on his face, but not nearly as many as Scott had. The blood on his face was an eerie contrast to his pale complexion. Mr. Scott had a bone sticking out of his arm, and, like Chekov, had various holes and burn marks over his body from the laser guns. With the exception of Pavel's hands, which were trembling uncontrollably, both men were perfectly still. Far too still.

Three security officers came, and together with the Captain and the doctor they picked up the two injured men and started to carefully bring them down to sickbay. Kirk helped mindlessly, staring with fury at his damaged officers as the group stepped into a turbolift.

"Captain," Bones addressed. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"I'm angry," Kirk answered in monotone. "Angry that I let Chekov and Scotty become hurt like this. Angry that Spock is in danger now, too."

The doctor frowned as he examined the scanner while Nurse Chapel injected a hypospray into Scotty. "There was no other way around it, Jim," he began. The turbolift arrived at the proper floor and the group carried the two men into sickbay. "Jim—" he began as the security officers placed Scotty and Chekov in intensive care. "I don't know if you plan to, but you're not going down there."

Kirk said nothing.

"I mean it, Jim," Bones said urgently. "You're not. You'll be killed, and I can and _will _pull rank on you if you try to beam down. The crew needs a captain." He hesitated. "And I need my friend."

The captain attempted to give his usual, lopsided grin, but it failed. He could see Scotty out of the corner of his eye.

McCoy sighed. "Go back to the bridge, Captain. I'll keep you posted. I have a lot of work to do and I need to do it fast." Jim nodded and left without a word, without any hesitation whatsoever. Bones chewed on his lower lip for a second after turning toward the men. "Hell," he muttered as he strode toward them. "What went on down there?"

Quickly, Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chapel got to work, along with five other medical officers. The ship was notified that trips to sickbay would be made for emergencies _only_ until further notice. McCoy quickly did a damage report on Chekov, focusing solely on the arsenic poisoning while the others sealed his wounds. He checked his scanner with care. The poisoning actually wasn't as bad as he had expected—Chekov's kidneys and stomach were completely unaffected. The most damage was to his liver and lungs, though it appeared that the lung damage was mostly due to the physical beatings rather than the poison itself. McCoy cautiously picked up the ensign's hand and examined his fingernails. They were discolored.

"I'm going to get the dimercaprol ready for Chekov," Bones announced. "He needs surgery on his liver—not a transplant, it's not that drastic, just remove the affected part immediately—and he needs his lungs to be treated. Both men need bone regeneration, specifically on their ribs…and obviously Scotty's arm. Mr. Scott has a concussion, too. Close the major open wounds and then get to work on the surgeries and regen. I'll be right back with the antidote—"

Chekov had a small convulsion, and Montgomery began to scream. "_No, no, leave us alone—please—help!"_ Scotty yelled, thrashing in the bed. Two medical officers quickly attempted to restrain him. "No, stop! _No more!"_

"Scotty!" Bones breathed. "Mr. Scott, calm down, you're back on the _Enterprise_—you're safe!"

"Don't, _please,_" he whimpered with a thick brogue, hyperventilating. Scotty's heart rate was off the charts, the machine attached to him made loud whistles and beeps of protest. He continued to lash out as a medic wiped his brow with a damp cloth.

McCoy grabbed a hypo and casually stepped over to the engineer. "It's alright, Scotty, we've got you. You're home," he used extra care while he sprayed a sedative into the second officer. "They can't hurt you anymore."

"_Leonard,"_ Chapel called. "Chekov—his heart is failing—but he's saying something—I don't know what, sir, it's Russian!"

Bones placed the empty hypo on the stand next to Scotty's bed and ran to the navigator. "Damn it, Chekov, don't speak, you're injured—" he began, but the young man could not hear him.

"Вы смотрите смело вперед; не только что вы не видите или божественной ничего ужасного в будущем; потому что жизнь по-прежнему скрыто от глазами молодых…" Pavel whispered soullessly with a rough, violent cough.

"_Shit,_" murmured McCoy, eyes darting to the clock on the wall.

* * *

Night.

It was quite beautiful below the surface of Xenoan at nighttime, Spock wanted to admit. Instead of being dimly lit with ember lights, neon lights lit the streets and houses. Above them, on what would normally be called the ceiling, was thousands of fiber optic lights mimicking stars. Noticing them, Spock began to grow curious as to why the natives did not live above the ground. Based solely on their anatomy, it was apparent that they did not evolve below the surface. They were goat-like creatures, meant to remain on pasture and hillsides. Not to mention the obvious fact that grass would not grow so far below the ground—and since they worshipped grass so much, one would think that they would wish to be closer to it. Then again, the natives did not seem to be very logical that way.

Spock found himself in a position that was most compromising: he was handcuffed to a railing in T'Ke's bedroom. Due to her apparently royal status, her room had no ceiling. It symbolized, she said, her being closer to _Them_ than anyone else. This fact held little interest to the Vulcan; the first officer wanted only to be returned to the _Enterprise. _He found that he could not care less about the society's culture anymore. While he was not being tortured, he had not eaten all day on the ship and was wary of asking for it here. He was sure that he would not be fed poisonous food until they determined that he was not one of _Them_, but eating anything unknown could be risky—he had seen the natives eat solely meat, and even if the Vulcan was not a vegetarian, he wouldn't have eaten that. For all he knew, the meat could have once been the colony. So Spock decided to go hungry instead.

T'Ke was fast asleep, and had been so for fifteen minutes. The Vulcan began to go through his options. It was logical to assume that when _They_ came into the room, as T'Ke had stated that _They_ would, Spock would be labeled as an enemy. There were two paths he could take: A: He could try to convince T'Ke that _They_ were frauds. That would violate the prime directive, but it could be imperative for Spock's survival. B: Assuming that _They _were unarmed and there were no more than four of them, Spock could fight _Them_ and T'Ke, and run.

Vulcans were, undoubtedly, stronger than the natives. Spock could probably be able to knock out five of them—so long as they were unarmed. In her room, T'Ke was unarmed. However, if _They_ brought so much as a laser gun, Spock wouldn't stand a chance; and it would be illogical to assume that they would be unarmed. So he decided that Plan A was the best choice. Even if _They_ were not frauds, Spock would have to convince her that _They_ were.

Spock almost sighed. Was he attempting to reason with Death? Forcing logic into a species even more illogical than humans would be unfathomable. Spock, he thought, was being completely illogical himself. He knew how slim the success rate of any action of escape was—he knew the exact percentage, to the hundredths place. Yet here he was, First Officer Spock shackled to a railing below the ground of a dangerous planet, in place of two crewmen.

Fascinating. When he put it that way, it was a very…Captain Kirk thing to do. Spock was acting like Jim.

How illogical.

Approximately half an hour later, the door to T'Ke's room slowly opened with a creak. Two natives walked in, though they looked different than the others. Their fur was jet black, and their eyes were green, lacking the fluorescence of the other natives' eyes. In other words, their color scheme was much more toned-down than the rest of the natives. In fact, Spock could think of a few planets were these people would be able to travel to freely and not stand out whatsoever. These natives, he assumed, were _Them._ _They_ took no notice of Spock, and went immediately to the side of T'Ke's bed. Spock examined them, as they leaned over the woman to wake her up. _They_ were completely unarmed, they posed no threat to Spock at present. His mind drifted to Plan B…surely, if Plan A did not go as he hoped, Spock could easily fend off three of these aliens. However, whether or not he would be able to make it to the surface of the planet, contact the _Enterprise_, and beam aboard before being caught was an entirely different matter.

T'Ke's eyes fluttered, and she smiled upon seeing _Them._ "My Lord, my Lady…" she greeted, jumping out of bed and bowing to them. "I apologize, You know that I always listen to Your commands before I speak, but I have an urgent matter that needs to be addressed right now."

_They_ looked at each other. Evidently, _They_ did not speak English. The female pressed her hand against T'Ke's forehead, initiating what Spock assumed to be a mind-meld. T'Ke looked back at Spock without any emotion in her eyes.

_They_ gave him a sharp-toothed grin while T'Ke looked down in shame, and the Vulcan knew he was in trouble.

* * *

A/N: So, readers. I'm a little stuck on Chekov and Scotty. I can't promise that I'll go with the majority, but what do you think? Should they live or die? Either answer in a review or a private message, I'd like to know what everyone wants!


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